


a crown of steel, a circlet of glass

by shepherd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drugs, F/M, Homophobic Language, M/M, Nightmares, Organized Crime, Romance, Sexual Content, Swearing, Trauma, Violence, mavin fic bang 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 108,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gang AU. The guys at Roosterteeth are all, in some way, trapped in the underworld working for Geoff Ramsey’s hugely influential gang. Some are mercenaries, while some are drug dealers- and one is a double agent for the police. Michael is an illegal boxer while Gavin dabbles in a bit of everything, and both have gradually lost sight of a life beyond the world of crime. However, when romance comes into the equation and Gavin is injured in a sale gone wrong, Michael realises the exact level of care he has developed for him. So, Michael has to convince his lover to escape the gang, somehow persuade Geoff to let them go, and not get themselves killed by a rival gang or arrested by the police in the meantime. The job was never an easy one- but it’s about to get infinitely more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. revolution roulette

**Author's Note:**

> written for the mavinficbang on tumblr. i'm on tumblr, at deathorsovngarde.
> 
> this bastard is over 100k words.
> 
> chapter title is from 'revolution roulette' by poets of the fall

For both his sanity and his integrity, Gavin Free had strived to make sure he would never witness the death of a human being. He would always make sure he was too busy to take the jobs that would inevitably lead to a pile of corpses, dedicated to guiding and directing the underdogs in the gang, taking count of his brothers, destroying damning evidence- or simply and conveniently absent. He wasn’t sickened at the sight of blood or gore- he wasn’t that pathetic- and he wasn’t ignorant about the state of the human race. He knew there was something inside everyone that was finely tuned, trained to kill for the purpose of survival. Death was a way of life. He wasn’t a moron, even though his friends and co-workers might occasionally claim otherwise.

  
Death was indeed incredibly common- Gavin just preferred not to add to the statistics.

  
He wasn’t exactly a conscientious objector to violence, nor was he a pacifist. In his line of work, violence was undeniably useful. It got you information and respect, and most importantly, people feared you. You didn’t rule when people loved you. You were soft and easily torn apart. You only ruled when people shit themselves whenever they heard your name. Fear was important.

  
Gavin himself feared what he would become if he saw the spark of life slowly leave someone’s eyes, let alone being the cause of it. He worried about what kind of desensitized monster would take control, ready and willing to take a life away at a moments notice, at his boss’s order.

  
At Geoff Ramsey’s order.

  
Geoff was an inspiring leader. And by inspiring, Gavin meant that people rarely ever heard his name, only because people were usually too terrified to speak it. He was a confident and quiet man, friendly and polite and rambunctious- but sometimes he smiled too wide, showed too many teeth, spoke a little too formally. He could grin and joke one second, and plant a blade in your belly the next. If you ever felt at ease around him, and you weren’t part of his gang or his buddy, you were a fool.

  
Gavin had been part of his gang for a little less than a year now, and he had worked his way up the ranks with surprising ease. He wasn’t a tool or a potential for a fall guy, not anymore. He wasn’t exactly Geoff’s right hand man, either- but he was something more, something serious. He did drug drops, he helped organize them, he sent messages.

  
On second thought, he takes it back. He was definitely a tool.

  
But he was getting of topic. What he had meant to say was that although he had beaten a few guys and definitely been beaten in turn, he wasn’t really built for fighting or killing. He always made sure he could easily get away from violence.

  
He couldn’t get away from this, though.

  
The man was splayed across the concrete floor, limp and loose. Several of his bones were broken, near enough shattered by the force of his fall. His right arm was positioned at an awkward, uncomfortable angle. His clothes were ripped and torn, sure signs of a struggle, and his once white shirt was now red. The colour of his hair was difficult to make out, matted and sticky with blood, but upon closer inspection it was a salt and pepper colour, flecked with silver, attesting to his age. His crimson life oozed out, along the pavement, down into the gutter. It mixed with the dirty rainwater and dribbled down a nearby grate, mixing with the bile of the city.  
Gavin watched silently, and he was surprising himself. He was cool and collected on the outside, acting with an almost professional detachment. His expression was blank, a smooth but ultimately fragile porcelain mask. His belly wasn’t quite so agreeable- he felt queasy and unsettled, and the pizza he had eaten for dinner was threatening to make a sudden reappearance. He could almost feel Geoff’s judgement and harsh gaze, his employer standing directly at his elbow. He was watching, like a hawk. As always.

  
It wasn’t his handiwork, nor was it Gavin’s. Gavin had never killed- admittedly not directly, anyway. He had never had his hands gripped tight around someone’s throat, nor had he felt the chill of a frozen gun in his heated hands, never delivered a killing blow. But he had inadvertently caused what could be hundreds of deaths, by giving bad information or ratting someone out. He was not a confrontational man. He would much rather leave the dirty, physical work to someone better suited for it.

  
He gazed at the body lying before him, almost directly at his feet, and he wanted to fall to his knees and heave. He suppressed the mix of illness and emotion churning in his belly. At least you didn’t watch him die, he tried to comfort himself. He couldn’t help but feel it was a consolation prize more than anything else.

  
“So how’d it happen?” He asked, his tone light, almost conversational. He wasn’t wearing a coat, or even a jacket, and the rain was seeping into his shirt, freezing his skin, making his bones ache with the cold. He shivered. He tried to tell himself it was because of the cold, rather than the discomfort, but the lie falls flat.

  
Geoff took a while to respond, the silence a heady, oppressive thing. But eventually he hummed. “Jack.” He told him, and Gavin feels like a imbecile.

  
“Of course.” He said, accidentally aloud. Jack was the capos of sorts, Geoff’s second in command. He had run with him in the first gang they had ever been a part of. They had started off as newbies themselves, green as summer grass with limited knowledge of how the underworld worked. There were three of them- Geoff, Jack and Burnie. Geoff was the charm, all smiles, while Jack was the brutality and Burnie was the associate, the calm and discreet intelligence. They all had some form of connection, more then friends, even something that seemed more like brotherhood- so when the leader of that old gang decided that Geoff was going to be the fall guy for a particularly vicious murder of a lawyer, they acted.

  
Gavin didn’t know exactly what happened. Communication inside the underworld was one large game of Chinese whispers. There were facts, there were lies, exaggerations, mistakes. Some people said that the head of the gang was violently taken apart, piece by piece by Geoff himself. Others said that when he realised that they were coming for him, he fled the country. Others said he killed himself. Gavin didn’t know. And to be honest, he didn’t want to.

  
“The window,” He heard Geoff say. “Up there.” Gavin craned his neck up, peering at the velvet coloured sky. Rain pattered softly on his cheeks, and he was forced to squint. They were standing at the open mouth of an alley, a tiny line in-between two great buildings. Gavin stared at the biggest one, a grey block of concrete with glass windows dotted alongside. The point of exit was obvious, now- limp, dusty looking curtains whip out of the window, the glass shattered. Vertigo makes his skin crawl and his stomach lurch- he looked away as quickly as possible.

  
“Who is,“ he caught and corrected himself. “was he?” He asked, distracting himself from the corpse.

  
“A bastard.” Geoff replied simply, with a half-hearted shrug and a small smile. “It’s a situation somewhat above your pay grade, but he was an ass. He was playing with fire and he deserved this fate.”

  
Anything to help you sleep better at night, Gavin supposed. There was something to be said about Geoff’s way of killing- it wasn’t random. He always found something to pin on you before you were murdered, as if it justified such violence. He would get his men to dig down into your past, deeper and deeper until they found some secret you kept that may have been bad enough to warrant your impromptu execution. And if there wasn’t anything- he would hire the best to make something up and create false evidence that you did it. In a sick and twisted way, he admired Geoff’s dedication.

  
“Why am I here, Geoff?” He eventually asked, his exasperation clear and his voice blunt. He turned around, his back to the body. “Why are you showing me this?”

  
Geoff eyed him, his expression even and his thin lips pursed. He had tilted his head to one side, like a curious hound. Seconds passed, being spent in silence as Gavin was surveyed. The raindrops continued bursting on the floor.

  
“You’ve never killed, Gavin.” The boss began, crossing his arms tight across his chest. His tattoos, vivid across his pale skin shifted with the movement of his muscles. “You can’t fight. I’ve seen you try. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a brilliant businessman and you fit in well here, but you’re terrible out on the field. In effect, you’re useless. A newborn baby we have to take care of.” He shook his head. “We’re not a babysitting service.”

  
Gavin’s jaw tensed and he grit his teeth. “I can shoot a gun.”

  
“You’ve never hit someone.” Geoff shot back.

  
“I have terrible marksmanship.”

  
“Bullshit. You’ve never missed a mark in training.” Geoff began to raise his voice, and it echoed in the empty street. “What’s that shit you always crow to your buddies? Mark fuckin’ Nutt? You’re craven, Gavin, you can’t kill anyone.”

  
“And this is supposed to help? Be my therapy?” He spat back, his fingers curling up into a tight fist. His nails were too blunt to cut into his palms, but they left angry red marks, turning the pale flesh bright pink. This was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Gavin, you’re such a moron. You never spoke back to Geoff, you never raised your voice- but the accusations stung, and the fear that he might get caught out and forced to kill turned his knees to jelly.

  
“I know for a fact this is the first corpse you’ve seen.” Geoff told him, and his voice was suddenly terrifyingly soft. It wasn’t the cold that sent a shiver down Gavin’s spine. “It’s not going to be the last.”

  
“Is that a threat?” Gavin fought to keep his voice even, but it wavered and broke. Judging by theway Geoff’s lips curled with mirth, he heard it.

 

“At the risk of sounding like a clichéd motherfucker, it’s more of a promise if anything.” Now, his voice was almost a satisfied purr.  
Arsehole. Gavin quivered with pure rage. He wanted to shout, wanted to scream, wanted to turn to violence but he knew two things. The first was that punching Geoff would be the greatest and the last mistake he would ever make. If Geoff didn’t snap his neck within a second, Jack or Ryan or even Burnie eventually would. Secondly, he knew his boss was right. He’d never killed. He’d barely caused anyone vague physical discomfort.

  
A migraine ached despairingly in his head, his temples pulsing. Gavin forced himself to relax, his tense muscles easing with difficulty. His hands unclenched, the pink marks from his nails stinging. In perfect contrast, Geoff stood easily. His weight was shifted onto one leg and his arms were still loosely crossed, and that stupid smug smirk still touched his lips. But Gavin knew he was a live wire, always spitting sparks and never to be touched.

  
“Can I go, sir?” He spoke stiffly, forcing himself to be respectful and he could barely withhold a wince when he saw the flash of fury in Geoff’s eyes. Conversations with Geoff were always dangerous, like tip toeing around a slumbering lion. If you made the wrong move, said the wrong thing, you’d be eaten up in a second.

  
“I’m not done with you.” He said, his voice terse. He stepped forward, now standing directly next to Gavin. “I’ve barely begun, Gavin.”  
“I- I didn’t mean to-” Gavin scrambled for words, all too aware of just how fucked he was, but Geoff waved the useless words away with a sharp hand movement. The younger man fell immediately fell silent, worry gnawing at his belly.

  
“Whatever.” Geoff said. “I don’t care. You need to toughen up, Gavin.” A scowl contorted his once handsome face, and Gavin felt his terror level rising. “You need to learn to shut up as well. Next time you try to talk back to me I won’t be so lenient.” Not taking the hint, Gavin opened his mouth to protest- and Geoff simply raised his hand silently. That one gesture had such authority Gavin automatically shut his mouth again with an audible snap of his jaw. “I like you, Gavin. But in the long run, it doesn’t matter who I like.”

  
A familiar shadow stepped out from the darkness, his feet splashing in a huge but shallow puddle, his form an oppressive shadow. It was Jack, and Ryan trailed close behind him, as silent as a wraith. Gavin sucked in a breath and took a minor step backwards, tensing again, his apprehension building. Ryan and Jack were his friends, after their rocky start- he had good memories of drinking several nights away at their bar, the old regular, and playing tennis with Jack and quickly being annihilated. He loved them like family, and he was fairly sure they felt the same way towards him.

  
But he knew that their history with Geoff and loyalty to him was much more important than their relationship with a scatty young man, even if he was like their son. Geoff was some twisted mix of a father figure and a brother in arms- he was equal, but in the same vein he was far superior. Ryan hadn’t been with them the whole time, but the men embraced him nonetheless, and Gavin knew they would all do anything for each other.

  
Fuck.

  
Gavin took several more staggering steps backwards, the breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t interested in the body anymore. His belligerence failed him, as did his words.

  
He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to die. But he didn’t want to back down.

  
So he did nothing, and waited.

  
“Get out of my sight.” Geoff finally said, jerking his head down the road. He uncrossed his arms and stepped back towards Jack and Ryan, never turning away from Gavin. “Think about what I said.”

  
Gavin almost sagged as relief flooded him and in retrospect, he may have turned away a little too quickly and eagerly. Letting out a heavy breath, he strode down the street, glad to put the danger and the cold corpse behind him. “Clean up time, boys.” He dimly heard Geoff say as he fled.

  
The night was dark and dank, and the city was a warren of twisting, turning streets and alleyways drowned in black shadow. The wind had picked up not long after the sun had set, and the rain had began to fall when the crescent moon was high in the sky, barely visible among the clouds. Gavin shivered, gooseflesh crawling up his arms. More than anything, he wanted to be home. He wanted to strip out of his steadily soaking clothes, wrap himself up in his duvet and watch mind numbly bad shows on TV until everything he had seen this night went away.

  
But he wanted something- someone- much more.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

The apartment was terrible. Graffiti covered the walls, vibrant names and slurs screaming out from the almost utterly destroyed plaster. Music blared from some room high above. Or it might have been below. He couldn’t tell. It seemed to come from everywhere. Gavin could count three empty packets of crisps, one energy drink bottle and several bottles of beer on the floor.

  
He stepped over it all, uncaring, and found the door he needed.

  
He knocked on the solid door three times, hard. He shoved his hands in his jeans pocket, lamenting his lack of a jacket in the hallway and waited impatiently, his stomach still twisting. He was kept waiting too long- he went to knock again, fiercer this time, but then the door was yanked open and he heard a exasperated, irritated voice sigh “Goddamnit, what do you want?”

  
Michael Jones stood in the doorway, a deep scowl etched into his young face. His glasses were perched perilously low on his nose, and his eyes were a little bleary. He was dressed for bed- a plain grey, baggy nightshirt and black boxers underneath, and Gavin immediately was overcome with guilt.

  
“Sorry.” He managed, taking a step backwards into the darkness of the hallway. He yanked a hand out of his pockets, nervously gesturing back down towards the elevator. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, Michael, I’ll go-”

  
“Nah, it’s cool.” Michael interrupted, shaking his head roughly. His aggravated expression had cleared and his mouth had quirked up into a smile, and the stupidly sappy part of Gavin wondered if that smile was special, reserved just for him. “I don’t mind if it’s you. I thought it was a crack head or something, at this time of night.”

  
Gavin dithered still, almost dancing in the hallway, hoping from foot to foot. His expression was crinkled with discontent. “Are you sure?” He asked. “I can go, I won‘t mind.” But he prayed that Michael wouldn’t be so cruel- he had a mean streak, yes, but he was never cruel. Gavin’s tongue was steadily blackening from his lies.

  
“No.” Michael stressed, and he stepped out of Gavin’s way, pressing himself closer to the door. “Get in, it’s freezing out there.” The man eyed him, looking up and down at the thin shirt he wore and the skinny jeans. The fabrics were plastered to his skin.

  
Gavin hesitated for one long beat, torn between coming or going- but it was so freezing cold, and he felt far too fragile for his liking. He remembered the thick blood and the cold pale skin, and the rage he saw in Geoff’s eyes. He needed Michael’s comfort. He bowed his head, and stepped into his apartment.

  
As Gavin slipped by, Michael suddenly reached out and caught him. His hand curled around his twig like wrist, and he pulled the other man closer. Alarmed, Gavin made a peculiar noise in the back of his throat and stumbled into Michael’s personal bubble. He felt the brunette draw him closer, into his warmth, and he felt gentle lips brushing his temple, carefully, as if they were not actually there.  
It quelled the discomfort and unease he felt, but only a little, and only for a brief while. Gavin huffed out a breath, enjoying his lover’s presence. He heard Michael hum quietly.

  
“I missed you.” He spoke quietly, and neither men could help the smiles that played on their lips. There was a final, delicate kiss placed on Gavin’s forehead before Michael withdrew, his fingers lightly tracing the bare skin of his wrist and forearm.  
“I missed you too.” Gavin replied easily, truthfully. He reached up and ruffled the auburn haired man’s hair softly, and he smiled. “We shouldn’t faff around out here, though.” Gavin murmured. “Someone’ll see us.”

  
“Fuckin’ pansy.” Michael muttered, grinning, but he stepped back again and let Gavin pass, this time without interruption. As he crossed the border from the hallway to the apartment, something heavy seemed to remove itself from Gavin’s shoulders. A burden seemed to be gone, although the very idea was ridiculous. He was in just as much danger as he was before- just because he was in Michael’s apartment didn’t mean he was safe and sound. But there was a comfort in that familiar place that he had been in hundreds of times, something that was genuine and warm and cozy. It protected him from the pouring rain outside. It was in the dirty plates still strewn on the table from dinner, the game cases all over the floor and the pure scent of Michael. The TV was on, playing a show Gavin faintly recognised as one of Michael’s favourites, but the voices of the characters were simply distant humming noises, as if they were murmuring gibberish. Michael didn’t seem that interested in it anymore either. He had followed him closely, and he stood directly to Gavin’s side. Just like Geoff had, a dark little voice in Gavin’s head whispered.

  
Gavin ignored the chill that ran down his spine and the way his belly quivered, and asked “I thought you were in bed?”  
“I fell asleep watching TV.” He replied, somewhat sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his neck lightly, then at his eyes furiously. His glasses wobbled precariously. “I think maybe about an hour ago.” He looked back up, his eyes already seeming clearer and more alert, but he frowned as he took in his lover properly for the first time. “What the hell have you been up to?” He reached out and prodded at his shoulder, feeling the damp fabric and his warm skin underneath. “You’re more soaked than I thought, man.”

  
“I, uh,” He began, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. “I had to do a job.”

  
Michael’s eyes darkened and narrowed. “Oh.” He crossed his arms across his chest, his tattoos vibrant against his snowy white skin. The voice crept back, hissing Just like Geoff. “Anything I should know about?”

  
“No.” Gavin told him, a little too quickly judging by the alarmed expression on Michael’s face. “No,” He repeated again, forcing his tone to be lighter and words easier. “It was just a lot of standing outside in the cold and rain.” He forced a playful pout on his lips, and he blinked almost coquettishly. “I might get a cold.”

  
Michael immediately noted the way he blinked, and his stunned expression melted away, into something a lot lighter, and infinitely more seductive. He stepped a little closer, grinning teasingly. “Right?” He said, and his voice had dropped a lot lower. “We couldn’t let that happen.” He reached out, both his arms grasping his biceps just above his elbow joint. His fingers trailed up the warm skin, and Gavin repressed a shudder. “Maybe we should get you all warmed up.”

  
Gavin almost snorted with laughter- they were grown men, what the hell were they playing at- and Michael’s dimples appeared as he tried to suppress the same giggles. Instead, he lifted himself up on his tiptoes.

  
The shorter man stepped forward to press straight into him, and before Gavin knew what was what his hands were coming up, and one rested against Gavin’s cheek while the other went to the back of his neck. Stubble scratched insistently against Michael’s palm, and his long fingers threaded into Gavin’s dark hair. Everything else was pushed away, deemed unimportant and thrown out of the window, especially when he leant forward and Gavin was suddenly hyper aware of Michael’s lips on his. He was careful, treating him delicately as if he knew Gavin might break down at any given moment. He pulled him closer, his lips imploring, practically gliding against his. His movements were easy and loving. Gavin’s eyes fluttered shut and he smiled against Michael’s mouth, kiss drunk. His partner sighed in response, breaking their connection momentarily to press several sloppy, messy kisses against his chin. His breath was hot against Gavin’s skin, almost scalding, but it provided the exact of comfort he needed. His mouth was quickly recaptured with a new found eagerness and ferocity, but he couldn’t complain, especially when Michael’s tongue was suddenly there, teasing and playful and familiar. Gavin placed the palm of his hand over Michael’s chest, just above his heart. The beat of it was slow, barely detectable, and Gavin wondered if it sung just like his.

  
Gavin was finally forced to pull himself away when the need for air became to much, far too soon for his liking, but he rest his forehead against Michael’s, listening to his lover’s quiet pants. Both their faces were flushed a light pink. Their breaths seemed to synchronize, and Gavin dropped a hand to Michael’s hip, pulling him closer. “I love you.”

  
The smile split Michael’s face, and he almost seemed to bounce, still standing on his tiptoes. Gavin leant down instead, letting him relax. He kissed Michael‘s jaw, and peppered kisses on the journey down along his throat. “I love you too.” He heard the almost whispered reply, and he let out a soft ‘aww’. Michael spluttered and thumped him gently on the back. Gavin laughed, tucking his head into the side of his lover’s neck, reveling in his warmth- then his eyes fell on the television.

  
What have could have been a medical or crime drama was playing, and he wasn’t sure if that’s what was on a few minutes back. Usually he would have looked at it and simply brushed it away, disregarding it- but tonight was different. On an autopsy table, a body lay stretched out and partly uncovered, it’s skin the colour of curdled milk. It’s chest had been ripped apart, as if torn by some frantic, furious predator. Congealed blood gathered at the edges of the wounds, and strips of skin lay loose. A pathologist fussed over it, neatly folding back white tarp further down to it’s waist as a police officer talked animatedly to his partner, gesturing wildly with his hands. Gavin couldn’t help but watch, bizarrely enthralled but disgusted as the pathologist pulled on latex gloves and reached for the cadaver’s wounds. The sight of the body brought back those dark recent memories, the shattered bones and the blood in the gutter. Something unpleasant stirred in his belly.

  
The moment her covered fingers touched the ruined flesh, Gavin was done. His stomach abruptly churned, and he sucked in a fast breath, nearly choking himself. His belly cramped, tightening and tensing, and he knew there wasn’t any way to save himself or his dignity.

  
He ripped himself from Michael’s embrace and turned and ran, knowing Michael’s apartment like the back of his hand. Speeding past the television, out the door and down the hallway, he left behind Michael and the bewildered sounds that broke free of his throat. Bursting through the thankfully already ajar bathroom door, he barrelled straight for the toilet. Falling to his knees, he heaved and emptied the contents of his stomach into the bowl.

  
Once done, he groaned, long and loud. He heard quiet footsteps down the hallway, Michael no doubt following him cautiously with a perplexed expression. Gavin sighed heavily and rubbed furiously at his forehead, feeling the cool and clammy skin, knowing he would be forced to explain himself. He listened to the pattering sounds of bare feet now on the bathroom’s cold tiles, and he could see Michael crouching beside him in his peripheral vision. They spent a few awkward seconds in a tense silence.

  
“If I knew kissing you would have a reaction like that, I would have thought twice about doing it.” Michael eventually managed, sounding somewhat helpless, and Gavin couldn’t help but snicker into the porcelain bowl. He felt warm hands on the back of his neck, twin comforting weights. One slid up to ruffle his already carelessly mussed hair in the same way Gavin did earlier, while the other traced the light hairs on the back of his neck, and he sighed with pleasure at the soothing feeling.

  
“Sorry.” He murmured, temporarily emerging from the bowl. The smell was putrid, and it made his nose wrinkle. “I saw something horrible today.”

  
Michael’s hands temporarily still, twisted and tangled in his locks.“Geoff.” It was less of a question, nor was it a statement- more of an accusation. Gavin grunted in affirmation, clearing his throat, and nodded. “What happened?”

  
All that blood, he thought. The fall, the break, the end. The taste of vomit lingered on his tongue and he spat down into the bowl before he answered. Michael’s hands continued their soothing movements. “Geoff made me look at a body.”

  
He may not have been able to see Michael’s frown, but he could hear it in his tone. “You got sick thinking about a body?”

  
Gavin’s anger flared defensively and he straightened up to glare at the other man. “Excuse me,” He snapped, his voice cold. “Just because you’ve seen a load of bodies. You’ve even put a few in their graves. Don’t take the piss out of me.”

  
“I’m not.” His lover growled in response, just as defensive as he was. But he never denied it. “I’m just wondering why the hell you suddenly thought about it when we made out. Unless I kiss like a corpse. I’d prefer you just told me that now.”

  
“The telly. The crime show, or whatever- there was a corpse.” The memories come trawling back, scratching at him like the claws of a beast, agitating and tugging at his sanity. “I just… I thought… god.” He retched again, dry heaving into the toilet. Michael’s flash of anger promptly abandoned him, and he smoothed down Gavin’s hair, murmuring sweet words into his ears.

  
“But you’ve seen bodies on TV before.” Michael reminded him when he was done, his voice almost crooning comfortingly in his ear. “I don’t understand what’s so different ton-” He halted, his voice abruptly breaking off, and Gavin knew Michael suddenly understood when his hand tightened hard in his hair. The man hissed in pain, but it went ignored. “Motherfucker.” Michael snarled. “Geoff showed you a body.”

  
“Yeah.” He tugged his head forward, and Michael finally eased up let go. The sudden quiet was deafening. The only noise was the sound of the rain still pattering against the bathroom window. Gavin turned his head, careful not to move to quick, and saw that Michael’s cheeks had taken on a rosy hue of rage. His hand was balled tightly into a fist, and Gavin saw his lover’s jaw shift under the skin. “Michael,” He tried to begin, his voice soothing, but Michael got there first.

  
“I know what you’re gonna say, and it’s not alright.” He rumbled, the sound emitting from deep within his chest. “Fucking asshole, hasn’t he done enough to us?” He withdrew his hand from Gavin’s hair, and he withheld a soft whine of disappointment, knowing it wasn’t the time. “He fucking traps us in his little game, makes us as terrified as shit of him, constantly has us on edge and now he thinks ‘oh hey, sounds about time I show Gavin a fucking body’? Jesus fucking Christ, I’m so done with all this shit.” The telltale sounds of a famed Michael Jones rage all began to appear- his eyebrows narrowed dangerously, and the blush on his cheeks only deepened. He tugged on a lock of his hair, as if in distress or punishing himself. “I don’t care what the fuck happens, he’s never going to be able to do that again, next time I have I fight on I-”

  
Gavin rested his palm on Michael’s cheek in supplication, hushing him gently. It had a fifty-fifty success rate. Sometimes, it calmed him down and allowed him to listen to reason, but sometimes it only threw fuel onto the already blazing flames. Michael wasn’t one to be patronized or treated like a child. Gavin hoped it would work as the former- stuck on his knees in front of the toilet, he wouldn’t be able to stop Michael from doing anything rash.

  
He almost breathed a sigh of relief as Michael quietened and mellowed under his touch, the fury in his eyes softening and eventually disappearing. He went as far to almost nuzzle his palm, leaning in and sighing with soft contentment. Gavin wanted to kiss him, and almost leant forward to do so- but remembering his sickness, he instead lightly hit their foreheads together in the most affectionate way he could. Michael snorted with laughter, reaching up to rest his own hands on Gavin’s forearm.

  
“I don’t like you working so close to him.” Michael began, his voice considerably lower and calmer.

  
“And I don’t like you taking part in illegal boxing for a living.” Gavin shot back, matching his tone to Michael’s, and the two of them gazed at each other. Michael’s eyes were dark and unreadable, and Gavin’s heart dropped into his stomach. He hated being shut out like that. But he supposed that was how Michael was, for better or for worse.

  
“It sounds like we’re stuck.” Michael’s voice was almost monotone, and Gavin hated it. He hated everything. He lowered his gaze, and a mirthless smile played on his lips.

  
“Yeah,” He said, his palm never moving from Michael’s cheek. “I guess we are.”

x-x-x-x-x

 

When Gavin Free emerged from his mother in a brisk and warm May afternoon, red faced and squalling, she had high hopes for him.  
The nurse, a boisterous but kind older woman passed him over to his mother after he was cleaned, and she watched his mother sleepily smile down at her newborn. She smoothed back damp wisps of dark hair from his head, cradling him close and pressing a sweet and careful kiss to the crown of his head. He waved his arms in a mindless fashion, little hands curled into fists.

  
He managed to catch one of her long tresses in his hands, and he clung to it. It seemed to soothe him, and the nurse watched as something beautiful happened. The mother was exhausted, her entire body held limp and her face flushed with exertion. But at her baby’s touch, something shone and sparkled in her eyes, and her smile excited, affectionate. Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked just about ready to cry. “Gavin,” she cooed, her voice soft. “You’re so beautiful. You’re my beautiful baby boy.”

  
Gavin’s mother knew right then that she would happily protect him with her own life, and shield him from all manner of hurts. She kissed him again, nuzzling him, loving him with every fibre of her being. And while her newborn managed to rip out a few strands of hair when the nurse later struggled to take him away to sleep, she loved him all the same.

  
She also did well raising him with his father by her side - he grew up a minor terror among the occasional shatter of precious vases, the curses of adults and yowls of the family cat the soundtrack to his youth. But he was a good boy, never straying too far from his parent’s arms, telling anything more than white lies or getting into fights. Most of the neighbours- one of which was a sweet elderly lady, her tightly curled hair snow white and her cupboards always full of sweets for the neighbourhood children- all deemed him an angel, adorable and wholly innocent.

  
Unfortunately, they all grow up eventually, and everything Gavin’s family did right was eventually undone when Gavin went off to university.

  
University had that funny way of making the good kids bad and the bad kids even worse. Some of the good kids either wanted to explore themselves, test their limits, or they caved into peer pressure- drank for the first time, or experimented with drugs. Often, these were gateway drugs that only lead to a crippling addiction and even worse debt. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times and all that. And the already bad kids just got themselves into more trouble.

  
It started like a regular old sob story. Gavin Free was the good kid that got in with the wrong crowd. The crowd that wasn’t afraid of anything- especially breaking a few of the rules or the laws. He met a friend, one of the other good kids, who had a morally questionable roommate who hung out with all the wrong- or if you asked him, the right people. It all went downhill from there, really.

  
Gavin had talents. Useful talents. Many people who knew him all noted how he couldn’t seem to stop talking- he talked so often, he mumbled meaningless words under his breath while working and he spoke in his sleep. It was endearing sometimes, irritating at others, but his gift for the gab meant that Gavin was excellent at talking himself out of a tricky situation. He talked his way out of going to work at his job in a student bar, talked his way out of visiting his parents back home, even managed to persuade a police officer or two to look the other way. He talked and talked and talked, working his magic, and he became famous for it on campus.  
He found all the lies exhilarating, the games and the tests, and he wanted more of it. The university nightlife was perfect for him.

  
Unfortunately, he quickly found he didn’t like university, and the university staff didn’t like him. He loved the people, and he cherished all the friendships he had made. But he loved the nights, and he despised the days. His job was boring and paid minimum wage, and he always had to deal with aggressive drunkards when he would have much preferred being that same drunkard.

  
He dropped out within the first few months. His parents had Not Been Pleased, but he wouldn’t listen to their coercion; all their pleas, bribes and threats. They ended up refusing to pay for his tuition, and they had once agreed, and had given him the cold shoulder. Gavin hadn’t cared, still stuck and suffering from his hubris- he just didn’t know it yet.

  
He packed up and left, bidding farewell to his friends and barely controlling the urge to give the staff the finger.

  
He took his chances, deciding not to stay in the country- he travelled around America instead, working as often as he could, sometimes picking up part time jobs in coffee shops, restaurants, libraries and random stores were qualifications weren’t needed. It was easy to charm them all with his accent, something he used to his advantage. He gave them a different life story each time, and as soon as he grew bored he got up and he left, quitting and letting nothing hold him back. He left no ties anywhere, but always kept in touch with old friends. Just in case.

  
When he didn’t want to get a proper job, he resorted to everything he had been taught by his friends in university. Tricks, lies and cons. He went to bars and did anything he could to trick people out of their money- he cheated in card games, cheated at pool. He was a cheater by heart, and an excellent trickster. Sometimes he stole from drunks, sometimes he made bets, sometimes he scammed people.

  
There wasn’t any honour in it, but Gavin was never tied down by such stuffy tradition like his parents were.

  
While he picked up all sorts of different skills during this time, the ones he favoured where the ones that included games. Betting that he could beat some guys highscore on a shooting game, maybe win a game or two of arm wrestling- even though he usually lost those- or playing a game of pool. He was good at those- games you could easily cheat on, just by using your brain.

  
However, Gavin’s quick wit and sharp intelligence didn’t always work to his favour. Sometimes instead of squirming his way out of a bad situation, he burrowed himself even deeper into one, every word sinking him deeper into metaphorical quicksand.

  
He had chosen one of his targets poorly. He was usually good at that- picking tourists that didn’t know better, or giggly girls or shy men who would be easily charmed by his smooth accent and roguish smile. But he’d slipped up that night, and chosen someone bolder, louder, drunker than usual.

  
His favourite trick was one he’d seen on TV a few times, but remarkably no one else seemed to know it. They all fell for it. He’d buy a few drinks, enough to make him feel that warm, gentle buzz but pretend that it was enough to make him stumble and slur. He’d become a loudmouth, aggressive and stupid- staggering around the bar, actively searching for a mark. He’d challenge this individual to a game, usually pool but it depended on what entertainments the bar had. He’d be awful at it, losing five dollars, then ten, then twenty, then fifty. He’d fake rage, snarling curses as his hands shook, piling defeat up defeat. His mark would build up their confidence, laughing at how badly he was playing, raking in the cash. Hopefully, a snickering audience would have formed, watching the game proceed. The victim’s greed would grow and grow, spreading like a tumour, until Gavin would ‘snap’.

  
“One more shot.” He would demand, wobbling dangerously as he would lean on the cue stick. “If I get this shot, you owe me 200 dollars. If I miss, I owe you 200.”

  
What would you have chose, against a young man so infused with anger and so clearly drunk? A majority of the time, the mark wouldn’t even think about it. They’d throw their heads back and roar with rambunctious laughter, maybe nudge their buddies if they were there, reveling in their fortune. A fool and his money are soon parted, they likely expected to crow, but they didn’t know Gavin was thinking the exact same thing.

  
His chosen victim had made that choice too. He had a nasty grin on his gaunt face, and Gavin didn’t like the way his eyes gleamed. He was a tall man, standing a few inches over Gavin himself, but he wasn’t a beanpole like he was. He had broad shoulders, a plain grey shirt tight over his thick chest. Gavin could see the end of a small tattoo emerging from one sleeve, just on one bulging bicep. In retrospect, the con man wondered why the hell he had picked this man as his target. He assumed it was simple and plain overconfidence, the hubris that lead to his downfall.

  
“Sure thing, boy.” His thin, chapped lips were twisted into an ugly smirk. “You might as well hand over your money now, though.”  
Gavin repressed the urge to smugly smirk, but allowed himself a broad, drunken grin. Perfect, he thought, as his trap snapped closed.

  
And his shot, as he expected, was flawless. As it always was.

  
The audience around them rippled, soft murmurs filling the bar, and each face had either an expression of disbelief or amusement. A few even gave brief applause before they swiftly moved away, losing interest once the game had been resolved. All of them were completely unaware of the trickery they had just witnessed.

  
His mark wasn’t so willing to let it go. If life were a cartoon, his jaw would have been hanging by his feet and his eyes would be drooping out of their sockets. He stared at the place where the billiard ball had once been, his expression dumb. Gavin stifled laughter.

  
“You lost, mate.” He crowed, slipping easily back into his role as the drunken fool. “Pony up!” Allowing-rather graciously he thought- the man to have time to fish the money out of his now empty wallet, he grabbed both cue sticks and put them back on the table for the next players. Gavin himself was going to collect his payment then hop over to the next closest bar. He’d try his trick once more before finding the least scummy hotel he could to stay the night. Tomorrow, it would be lather, rinse, repeat.

  
His plans, however, were quickly thrown out of the window.

  
When he drew back from the table, he was greeted with hard fist, directly into his face. The force of the brutal blow snapped his head back, and there was an audible crunch and the blooming sensation of pain. He grunted in shock, staggering away and immediately lifting his hands to his face as if to cradle his nose protectively. His fingers lightly grazed the skin of his nose, and he couldn’t help but hiss and spit out a curse at the pain and tenderness. He could dimly hear yelling and loud murmurs from the onlookers and furious insults spewing venomously from his attacker, but he was more interested in the copious amount of blood on his fingers. He felt the wet warmth on his lips, and winced as he tasted the iron on his tongue.

  
“You motherfucker!” He heard the aggressor howl, suddenly much closer than before. Another hand, the pale skin covered in protruding veins, scars and Gavin’s blood appeared and grasped at the collar of his shirt. “You takin’ me for a ride, you fuckin’ chav?”  
“Excuse you,” Gavin shot back, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Or at least, that’s what he would have said if he hadn’t been promptly hit with another straight right hook and sent sprawling to the floor. He landed heavily on the ground with a pained shout, dislodging and knocking over a nearby table with a loud crash. There were several sounds of sympathy from onlookers, several “oh fuck’’s and one short and panicked scream from some woman. None stepped forward to intervene. Gavin sucked a noisy breath through his mouth, blood now heavy on his tongue, and he shook his head roughly, attempting to shake away the growing haze.

  
“That’s enough!” A man’s familiar voice cracked out suddenly, like a bolt of lightning. It took Gavin several moments to place the voice, but he eventually recognised it as belonging to the bartender. “There’ll be no fighting here. Get along, or get the fuck out.”

  
It was abundantly clear not only to Gavin but to everyone else in the bar what the answer was going to be, and just what was going to happen. It speaks volumes about the nature of the world today that all except one person would willingly let who they thought was a drunk teenage boy be dragged outside of the bar by a furious, violent man, even though they knew damn well that the boy’s body may lie broken and bleeding by the time the sun came up the next day.

  
No one said a word, all the bar’s inhabitants sitting and watching in a stony silence as Gavin was hauled out of the bar and manhandled down the street. His attempts to break free of the man’s iron grip all ended in failure, and he was quickly shoved into a dark, dank alleyway. He ended up on the floor, again. We really need to stop this love affair, he thought dimly. People will talk. All humour aside, he sped through his options as quickly as he could, his sharp mind running a million miles a minute, but no idea seemed feasible. He considered turning on his heels and fleeing, but his mark would likely easily catch up with him and where could he go? He squirmed backwards, blindly trying to get away as the man approached. He kicked and struggled until he back connected firmly with the cold and vaguely mouldy and damp alley wall. End of the line.

  
Gavin believed his night, maybe even his life was going to end in that split second. He wondered if it would end quickly, or if the stranger would draw out this torture, maybe even leave him alone and dying after beating him into begging, pleading submission.  
And then Dan, his hero, burst into the spotlight and saved the day.

  
The man only had time to deliver one blow, a devastating kick to the ribs that made Gavin cry out and curl into the foetal position, his knees drawn tightly up to his chest and his arms thrown over his head, protecting the most vital parts of himself. He was going in for another punch, reaching forward to rip Gavin’s arms away- but the sound of heavy footsteps behind him made him pause, and he turned, halfway into reaching down.

  
“Hi.” Was all he heard, and a tiny, tight smile was all he saw before he himself was gifted with a punch, a tightly curled fist slamming into his jaw. Caught off his guard, he was pushed backwards a few steps and he thudded against a rubbish bin. Stunned, he could only sit there dazed until a heavy boot introduced itself to his ribs. His cry was agonized, and he hunched over, desperately trying to protect himself, drawing his legs up and wrapping his arms around them. “Twat.” He heard his attacker spit, but he thanked God as he showed mercy- the man never touched him again.

  
Gavin kept his arms up, his pants heavy and his eyes wide as he heard heavy footfalls and pained groans that weren’t his in the alley. His own ribs hurt like hell, and he knew he was going to wake up sore and covered in purple and black bruises the next day, but he knew it could have been so much worse.

  
Provided this new man didn’t intend to beat him as well.

  
“Are you bloody mental, mate?”

  
Gavin removed his arms from over his head and blinked up at the owner of the voice- the surprisingly British voice- cautiously. His saviour- his Batman-was tall and huge, his arms thick with muscle. He was also glowering down at him incredulously, clearly unimpressed, and his voice dripped with exasperation. He looked thoroughly unconcerned about the fact he just kicked a man in the ribs. “If you’re gonna try to scam someone, try not to pick a bloke who could bash your head in with no problems, yeah?”

  
“Like you?” Was all he could manage in return, his glibness abandoning him temporarily. He spat blood out onto the alley floor, hoping the damage wasn’t too serious.

  
His Batman hummed, a sly grin twisting on surprisingly plump lips. “Good thing I’m on your side then, right?” He leant down, offering him a hand. “Come on, let’s get you up.” Eying the dark knight uneasily, Gavin considered for a few brief seconds- he’s used to going it alone, never relying on anyone. Everyone else didn’t matter and they couldn’t be trusted. The only thing he could trust in was his instincts. But those instincts hadn’t served him well tonight, he realises- and so he takes a chance. He reached up and grabbed for his hand, and Batman hoisted him up to his feet with a grunt. “Good lad.” The man took his head in one hand, his palm on his cheek like a lover’s touch. Gavin jolted at the contact, about to protest and squirm away when he was prodded firmly in the nose.

  
“Oi!” He flinched away as pain sparked up his nose. He batted the others hand away, glaring up at him accusingly. Tosser.”

  
The offending hand fell to his shoulder instead, grasping it gently but firmly. He shook him lightly. “We’re gonna have to get that cleaned up.” He tilted his head to the side, looking rather like a curious puppy. “Are you alright, mate?”

  
“I was peachy until I got the hell kicked out of me and then poked in the bloody nose.” He says bitterly. He pinches the top of his noise, hissing out a breath. It’s still bleeding, the thick liquid oozing down to his lips. He sees Batman’s roguish smile.

  
“We’ll call a taxi and we’ll go back to mine.” He says, gesturing back up to the mouth of the alley where the streetlights cast a friendly looking beam of light. “Get you cleaned there. I don’t think anywhere will let you in to use their bathrooms when you’re in this state.”  
Cheers, he thinks, but as the man- this stranger- turns away he hesitates. This man had helped him from a bad situation, but that didn’t mean he could be trusted. The alleyway was wide- he could easily run, shove past him and make a break for the street. The man might not even chase him. But where would he go? Gavin cleared his throat, trying to get his attention. “Can I have a name, mate?” He called after his retreating back.

  
He saw him shrug his broad shoulders. “Alright. You can be Jessica.”

  
“Not like that, you pleb.” He yelled, exasperated. “Your name.”

  
“I’ll be Charlotte. Nice name, that.” Now, the stranger’s shoulders were shaking with barely disguised laughter. He turned, pivoting on his heels and managing to continue walking backwards. He had a shit eating grin on his face and deep laughter lines had appeared etched into his cheeks.

  
Gavin glowered after him, his expression sour. “Stop it.” He whined, like a child embarrassed and irritated by a playful parent. He stepped forward quickly, almost jogging to keep up, but he kept a careful distance between them. The inner conflict still waged brutal civil war in his head, even as he walked away from danger. The man still lie groaning, curled up on the cold alley floor. “I need to know otherwise I’ll have to call you Batman for the rest of the night.”

  
“Batman? Bloody hell, you really are mental. The name’s Dan.”

 

  
“I’m Gavin.” He replied, somewhat exasperated. “Are you going to be like this for the rest of the night?” Dan shot him an innocent look that screamed ‘like what?’ “All teasing. You shouldn’t be so flippant, I nearly died back there.” He might have been over exaggerating, but something told him he wasn’t. Maybe it was the way the stranger screamed so vehemently, and seemed to dedicated to kicking the shit out of him. Maybe it was the way his eyes shone with rage.

  
Gavin shivered, and tried not to think about. Then he realised Dan had been talking.

  
“I just saved you from some arsehole.” He was laughing, to his relief, instead of scowling. Dan had a good laugh- deep and genuine, something Gavin could get used to hearing. “I think I can do what I like.”

  
Gavin said nothing, but shrugged as if to say ‘fair enough’ and followed silently.

  
He hoped he wasn’t making the worst mistake of his life.

 

x-x-x-x-x

Whether or not he had was mostly subjective, he supposed, and overall it was a good decision- but Gavin would never have admitted that had you asked.

  
Dan’s place was nice. Spacious. Clean. Gavin supposed really that’s all that really mattered in the end, but the games consoles and huge library of video games helped. He had fixed his eyes longingly on them multiple times, making his eyes deliberately large and his lips quiver, but Dan had just rolled his eyes and ignored him. He, with very little warning, had pulled an makeshift ice pack made of frozen peas from his freezer and shoved it against his nose. “Hold it there for twenty minutes.” He commanded, his voice displaying the kind of authority Gavin hated. Just to spite him, he removed it, dropping it to the side with a heavy thud, and craned his head back. He pinched the tip of his nose, having no idea what it would do exactly but it seemed professional.

  
Dan smacked his hand down, and Gavin yelped like a kicked dog. “Don’t do that.” He scolded him, scowling. “It doesn’t work.”  
“How would you know?” Gavin muttered sulkily, but he let the ice pack be pushed against his nose again. Five minutes later, it was uncomfortably numb.

  
“I’ve had a fair share of broken noises in my time.” Dan said distantly, faffing around in his kitchen cupboards. Gavin had pushed himself up on the counter next to the sink and watched him busy himself. He frowned, and looked him up and down. He spoke like he had years of experience on him- but he looked roughly the same age as him. But he didn’t argue, or press for info. He let a somewhat uneasy silence thrive between them until Dan told him to remove the ice pack.

  
He peered at him for awhile, the only thing keeping him from prodding at the offending nose the fierce scowl on Gavin’s face, and hummed. He grasped a small container in his hands, but he seemed to have no need of it yet.

  
“Your nose is gonna swell up pretty bad.” The stranger said, turning his head from left to right as he stared. Gavin’s unfriendly frown only deepened, his lips tightening and jaw tensing, creasing his face with frown lines. He no longer shuddered at the taste of iron on his tongue.

  
“Right, because my nose really needs to get bigger.” His tone seeped bitterness, but his companion simply laughed, deep laughter lines appearing on each side of his mouth. It was that good laugh again- hearty and genuine, and despite the circumstances, it even made Gavin smile. “You’re a bell end.”

  
“You’re a bell end!” He shot back, his grin only widening. “Can you breathe properly, mate?” Gavin tried, and nodded his affirmation. “Good. You probably won’t have to go to the hospital then.” He opened up the container, and Gavin saw it was a pack of painkillers, some brand he didn’t recognise. He pressed two into his palm firmly, and bustled around the kitchen again, snatching up a glass from the side and filling it with tap water. He returned to Gavin, his mouth opening and his eyes full of content- and they narrowed when he saw Gavin pushing the pills away. “You’re having those, mate.”

  
“No.” Gavin argued, folding his arms across his chest. His ribs ached, like hell, but he wasn’t taking them. “I hate taking pills. My gag reflex is awful.”

  
“Well suck it up, your Majesty, because you’re taking them.” Dan shoved the glass at him- Gavin yelped a little at the water that sloshed over the rim and splashed on his jeans- and stood there, fierce and glowing until Gavin sulkily retook the pills, all of his arguments exhausted.

  
It took him ten minutes to get them down- not including the breaks Gavin took to shout at Dan, who was barely bothering to hide his snickering- but they were taken eventually, and Gavin sat, swinging his legs on the counter, waiting for them to kick in. The silence returned.

  
“How’d you know I was scamming him?” He eventually asked, as Dan was making two sandwiches. He watched him step around the kitchen like there wasn’t an injured stranger right next to him. Gavin could have done anything. He could have stolen stuff from the house, attacked him, tried to scam him. But Dan seemed blissfully unaware or most likely wholly unconcerned about the possible danger. Gavin eyed his new friend up and down, taking in his height and the muscle on his arms. He supposed if he looked like that, he wouldn’t be worried about some scrawny moron either.

  
Dan paused, halfway through folding a piece of ham. He looked up at him, and he looked befuddled. “What?”

  
Gavin repeated the question, and Dan barked out a laugh. He shook his head, snorting with amusement, and went back to making the food. “It was so fucking obvious.” He assembled the food quickly and cut it into triangles. “I’ve seen it done a few times, and you play the drunken idiot way too well.” Dan passed one of the plates to him, and Gavin gave no thanks. He stared at him, not sure if he was being complimented or insulted. He hopped off the counter and followed Dan out the door, waiting until he sat, then taking the chair on his direct opposite. The sofa was comfortable, one of those old but worn pieces that had more personality than brand new furniture. “You need to tone down the drunk you, otherwise it’s too obvious when you suddenly sober up. Plus, you chose a shit target. You’re never meant to go for anyone bigger than you or with a awful temper. I thought that was common sense.”

  
Gavin pulled a face at him, his mouth full of bread and ham. He wasn’t hungry, exactly, but he knew he needed to have something in him to keep him going. And he couldn’t pass up a free meal. “You’re making me out to be a bloody pleb.”

  
“You’re making yourself out to be a bloody pleb the way you’re playing.” Dan waved away his accusations as easily as he waved away a persistent fly. “You’re not special. You’re not the only one tricking drunk morons in pubs. But you’re probably one of the only ones who’s doing it badly and still alive.” He was scoffing down his own sandwich now, devouring it in no time at all as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. It was disgusting in a way, but Gavin had grown familiar with the feeling of hunger in this unreliable kind of work. He said nothing. “You’re lucky I was there.”

  
Gavin felt his temper rise, insulted by his treatment. It reminded him of his parents and the lecturers at university- patronizing, judging, all high and mighty and holier than thou. Gavin wanted to throw his plate at him, not caring that it was childish and ignoring the fact this man was only really trying to help. Fuck you, he wanted to say, but then he stopped and he thought about it. He took a breath, and put down his half eaten food. “Thank you.” He said instead, and if Dan was surprised, he didn’t show it.

  
“No problem.” He smiled, and there was silence for the last time.

  
“You got somewhere to go, mate?” He eventually asked, quirking his head and looking at him from the side. He had made himself quite comfortable, putting his now empty plate on the floor and lounging in his seat, his legs up and spread across the seat. He looked content, and Gavin longed to mimic the movements, but it wasn’t his house to relax in. He kept the plate in his lap, picking at the remains.

  
“Nah. I was hoping to pay for a hotel with the money from the guy but, well.” He chuckled dismally, shrugging his shoulders. The crust fell apart in his hands and the crumbs of the bread littered his plate. “You know how well that went. And I’m not sure I’ll have enough now.” He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, feeling a migraine coming on. “I’ll sort something out.”

  
Dan clucked his tongue, almost thoughtfully. “You could stay with me for a while.”

  
The decision that followed was one of the most important in his life- and his answer lead to the most dramatic events in his life, too, but he didn’t know it yet.

  
Considering everything, Dan was a perfectly pleasant guy, and Gavin did need food to eat and a place to stay. He was human, after all, and he was pretty poor now, and painfully beaten. It was a spacious apartment, and surprisingly neat for a young man who apparently lived alone. He had definitely slept in dirtier and more cramped conditions, and damnit, it had video games. Those were his weakness, and he wanted to stay so badly.

  
But despite everything Gavin had ever said and done, every stupid decision he ever made- he remembered jumping off the roof of a house into a almost too shallow swimming pool with alarming clarity- he still possessed a degree of common sense. Everything adults had ever told him and everything he had ever disregarded rang like warning bells in his head, and he knew he couldn’t stay, and staying would be the second stupidest thing he had ever done.

  
But with little money, nowhere to go and no one else to turn to, what else could he do?

  
He felt a little tongue tied, overwhelmed at how kind and generous this man was, but a little suspicious nonetheless, and he said. “If you didn’t mind, that would be wonderful.” He hoped he wouldn’t regret it.

  
The grin that appeared on Dan’s face was ear-splitting. He rolled off the chair with a speed that made Gavin jump, and almost hopped across the room with excitement. “I have one bed and a sofa.” He told him, skipping over to the television and plucking two Xbox controllers off the floor. “Play me for it.”

 

x-x-x-x-x

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting.

  
Then again, what was Gavin ever really sure of?

  
Was he going to be sold into slavery? Charged a ridiculous amount of rent? Used as dog food? Eaten? Used as a table? He didn’t know.  
But Dan Gruchy turned out to be a pretty normal- and pretty fucking top- guy.

  
Dan had thrashed him mercilessly at Halo, so he had won the sofa rather than the bed. It was surprisingly comfortable, although sleeping in a stranger’s house felt increasingly surreal. The fact he woke up to the smell of a cooked and surprisingly delicious breakfast made for him in the morning made it feel even more so.

  
What Gavin assumed would be a maybe multiple day old offer ended up stretching into a few weeks, and then into a few months. He wondered at several points whether or not he was overstaying his welcome, but he never seemed to be, and whenever Dan saw him that same eager smile stretched across his face.

  
They were blood brothers, he thought, as well as best friends. They were inseparable and wholly devoted to each other in the way only brothers could be.

  
So Dan was fairly normal and frankly amazing, all in all, but his job was a little confusing. Gavin didn’t work, per se- he couldn’t break his old habits. Instead of holding down some menial, minimum wage job, he went back to doing what he did best- scamming alcoholics. Dan didn’t exactly approve, and multiple times he had tried to convince him to do something safer, but Gavin was good at what he did, and he brought in a fair amount of money for food and rent. Sometimes, Dan even went with him, acting as a bodyguard of sorts, allowing Gavin to pick more targets. Only a few times had Dan been needed- and he always scared off the drunken victims with his intimidating height and build.

  
But Dan had his own line of work, something mysterious that Gavin didn’t know anything about, and it piqued Gavin’s curiosity. Dan came home at different times every night, sometimes early, sometimes late, sometimes not until the next morning. Sometimes, he came home after an hour or so worth of work and played video games with him for the whole day, and sometimes he didn’t go to work at all.

  
He wanted to ask, but he felt like he might not have wanted to know the answer.

  
He spent weeks like that, stuck, curiosity burning, aching to ask. But he didn’t, until one day when he came home very late- three days late- with bruises staining his jaw, a swollen eye, and a forearm tightly wrapped with clean bandages. Gavin had been freaking out since he had realised that Dan should have been home, and his panic had only grown when he tried to call his mobile and only got voice mail. He was preparing to go to the police when Dan had practically staggered in, dazed and a little confused, looking like someone had kicked the shit out of him. Gavin had, rather fairly he thought, flipped.

  
“Where the hell have you been?” Gavin demanded, storming up to him, ready to give him another swollen eye if he didn’t get a good answer. Dan had given him a dopey grin, something that seemed to be his specialty, and didn’t answer him immediately, instead making his way directly to the fridge. Gavin followed at his heels, calling for answers, and he eventually received one after Dan had munched his way through half a packet of sandwich ham.

  
“The hospital,” He told him, quite casually. “I would have called, but I lost my phone and I couldn’t remember the house phone number.”

  
Gavin stared at him like he had grown a second head, and spluttered at him for a few moments before turning on his heel and storming away from the stupid bastard.

  
It turned out that no, he wasn’t kidding, and it was a hundred percent true. Dan refused to talk before he felt, in his words, ‘fully human again’, so Gavin couldn’t ask before Dan had a proper meal, a shower and a few hours of sleep, but when he woke up, he finally gathered up the courage to ask almost immediately after he crawled out of bed, still looking like death warmed up.

  
Dan grinned as soon as he stuttered the question out, and laughed. “I was wondering when you were going to ask. I didn’t think I’d have to look as pretty as this for you to do it.” Gavin rolled his eyes, not quite in the mood for such jokes, and Dan quickly sobered. “I work for a crime boss.” He confessed, waiting for Gavin’s sound of furious outrage and betrayal, but instead, he was lightly elbowed in the gut, and Gavin laughed in disbelief.

  
“After you acting all high and mighty, and holier than thou when I scam people in pubs, you work for a crime boss? You’re a right tosser, Dan.”

  
At that point, he was reminded just why he liked Gavin Free so much.

 

x-x-x-x-x

The second reason he liked Gavin Free so much was because of his ability to adapt. Dan could spring absolutely anything on him, at any point, and he would bounce back from it, completely unaffected. This ranged to anything from bringing a girl home without asking, and inviting the leader of his gang back for a game of Halo.

  
Although, as he expected, Gavin’s first meeting with Geoff Ramsey was completely terrifying. Then again, every time someone met Geoff Ramsey there was a moment of terror.

  
Gavin played Halo with them, cracking jokes and spawn camping, victimizing Dan as usual, but he was clearly on edge, especially when Geoff seemed to pay undivided attention to him. Gavin never directly addressed it, but he flashed Dan concerned looks when he believed Geoff wasn’t looking- not quite understanding that Geoff was always looking.

  
Nothing had happened by the end of the night, Geoff simply saying his goodbyes at around three in the morning, and Dan saw how Gavin physically, noticeably relaxed as soon as the door was shut behind him.

  
Geoff approached Dan a few weeks after his and Gavin’s tension filled first meeting, after Geoff had come around several times and paid that strange amount of attention to his roommate, and asked about him. Dan wasn’t exactly content with doing so, but he told his boss everything, knowing that not doing so would have been a mistake. Geoff seemed naturally interested, especially in their first meeting and his current job, and Dan got the idea that his boss was interest in recruit Gavin, and using him as a kind of intelligence officer rather than a simple soldier, someone with brains rather than brawn.

  
So Geoff offered Gavin a job, one evening when they were playing together, and Gavin automatically refused. Dan choked on his beer, and Gavin had to hit his back before he could breathe normally again.

  
It took a while to convince Gavin to reconsider, and it was only when Dan sat down and spelt it out for him that no one refused Geoff, no one at all that Gavin finally agreed to work with him.

  
Gavin was a minor part, at first, doing tiny jobs like passing messages around the gang, assisting more important members like Dan or his friend Lindsay with more menial jobs- the ones no one enjoyed doing. He never had much of a chance to do what he used to, walking around pubs and picking his victims. Geoff never really approved, anyway, calling it ‘cheap’. But Gavin surprisingly never complained, even after all his hesitation- he found his new job fun, as it let him exercise his skills, and it was reliable and paid more than his old scamming job did. Working with Dan was an enjoyable benefit, too.

  
Eventually, over the following months he was trusted with more important, intelligent and complex jobs. He became someone who he used to help, someone who the newer members looked up to. He professionally stole stuff with Matt, breaking into all kinds of places, and helped Geoff organize trades and meetings between some of the smaller gangs he allowed to exit, that drew police attention and need Geoff’s trade. He even did a few drug trades and drops for Barbara, face to face with drug dealers. Dan expected him to come home from his first drug drop quivering in fear, vowing never to do it again, but he simply walked in, took a beer from the fridge and asked what was for dinner.

  
He really liked Gavin.

  
Nothing happened for the longest while, after that, simply Gavin earning respect, working hard and doing odd but complicated jobs- but Dan noted that he never did anything violent, although plenty of other people did. He supposed it was a personal thing, and he didn’t press. He felt no one had the right to force Gavin to act violently if he didn’t want to.

  
And even though nothing happened, the gang being at peace for a long time, all of this ended up leading to a crescendo, a brief and unimportant series of events that led to the meeting between Gavin and Michael Jones.

  
And that was an important event.

  
Gavin was given a normal message, one to take to Geoff. It shouldn’t have taken an hour- a little less than an hour to get there, to the Marshall House, one of three houses were secret and very illegal boxing matches were held. It would have taken less than five minutes to relay the message, and then another less than half an hour to get back. It was easy, it was simple, and it ended up taking Gavin three hours.

  
It took him a little longer than expected to squeeze through the huge, boiling hot crowd, filled with sweaty and shouting older men. It took a while to find Geoff, too, but when he did, he was distracted by something else. The fight had began while he was faffing around, looking for his boss, and Gavin found himself staring directly at one of the two boxers.

  
It was partly because he was winning with ease, fighting against a man much bigger and more built that him, but mostly because he was gorgeous.

  
He couldn’t exactly scream the message over the cheering crowds, so he had to wait until the fight was over to tell Geoff. But he didn’t complain. He got to watch the most beautiful man in the world fight, get all sweaty with that look of satisfaction and concentration in his eyes, and he was very happy with that, thank you very much.

  
The man was toned just to Gavin’s liking- more than him, that is, but with a smooth flat stomach, with a tiny trail of dark reddish-brown hair that just about peeked over the top of his gym shorts. His hair, caught under the light flared, a sharp auburn, copper-like. His face was a little rounded and his lips were full, and he looked like an adorable, oddly fuckable cherub. But he was cute, and looked sweet.

 

  
And then he got off of the boxing ring, and opened his mouth.  
“That was fucking amazing.” He gushed, grinning and baring sharp, painfully white teeth. “I fucking nailed that asshole. Did you see the look on his face when he went down the last time? Fucking amazing, I need to fucking celebrate this shit.”

  
Gavin wasn’t really fond of those who swore, thinking there were more articulate ways to express yourself than swearing, but it sounded practically flawless coming from that man’s mouth. It was completely and utterly bizarre, but he found himself wanting more of it- of the slightly slurred insults, the pent up aggression, the filthy words leaking from his pretty lips.

  
He passed Geoff the message quietly, slyly while he gathered his money. It turned out the man- Michael, he gathered by the names on the board that advertised each boxer- worked here often, and in fact belonged to Geoff. He always bet big on him whenever he fought, and he had never been disappointed.

  
Gavin lingered a little, hanging around Geoff after Michael went to shower and change, and watched as they communicated. Geoff was easy and languid around the people he hired, as always, while Michael was a little more tense. But his words came easily, as did his curses, and before Gavin left, Geoff made sure to introduce them.

  
“Gavin, this is my favourite boxer, Michael Jones.” He brought them forward to face each other, one of his hands on one of their shoulders. Michael Jones looked him up and down, analysing him before offering his hand to him without a word. “Michael, this is one of my new-ish gang members, Gavin Free.”

  
The clasped hands together, and Gavin wondered if he was the only one who felt the spark of electric. It seemed he was, judging by Michael’s lack of reaction. Michael simply smiled, his full lips curving in the corners, and Gavin may or may not have dreamed of them later that night. “Nice to meet you, Gavin.” He said, and Gavin returned the smile.

 

“Likewise.”

  
After that, Geoff took him drinking as he always apparently did, congratulating him on a job well done and a fight well fought. Gavin longed to attend, and he even received an offer, but he knew Joel would have been waiting for him, already irritated at his lateness. He bowed his head and apologized, leaving them to their own devices, and definitely sneaking a peek at Michael when he was walking away.

  
They didn’t meet again, not for a long while as they both worked in completely different places at different times- but Gavin didn’t forget that pretty little face and the pretty little curses that streamed from his mouth.

  
It wasn’t until two weeks later that he was given a chance to see Michael again, and he grasped it eagerly with both hands.

  
He was waiting patiently for a job in the main hall, with nothing to do but no reason to head home. He was watching all the other gang members flood themselves around the hall, talking in quiet voices, silently watching over them. He didn’t expect anything to be sprung upon him, and if he was honest he was waiting to go home with Dan- but the unexpected came along, and it turned out to be delightful.

  
“Listen up!” A tall blonde stepped through the thick throng of people, breaking the tight circle and raising her voice over the soft chatter. Her steps were bold and confident, a kind of swagger in her movements. The volume in the room almost immediately fell, and all eyes fell to her. “Good.” She smiled, her lips painted the colour of frozen strawberries. Gavin had asked her once, the first day he had met her, if they tasted as sweet- and he was quickly and painfully educated on the fact that no man messed with or disrespected Barbara Dunkleman. She was undeniably beautiful and kind, and watching her interact with the newbies was like watching a nursery teacher with a bunch of toddlers, but she had a sharp tongue, a sharper mind, and a blade hidden in her boots even sharper yet. “There’s nothing dramatic or important going on right now- our division has had a nice quiet week. But next week all throughout next month there’s going to be tonnes of sales to make.” She clapped her hands together as if to emphasize her point, multiple colourful bracelets jangling in her twig like wrists. “Geoff and I need you at your best. Your tippy toppiest, if you will. A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, and Gavin laughed alongside them- until Barbara’s eyes locked on his, and they looked nothing short of mean. “And you, Brit, you’re wanted.”

  
Gavin let his mouth drop wide, and he places both hands over his heart. “Oh, Barbara,” He giggled playfully. “Not in front of the children.”

  
Her piercing eyes roll like marbles, and she pursed her lips in an exaggerated pout. The crowd chuckled once more, louder. “Joel wants to talk to you.”

  
Gavin grinned and hopped out of his seat, flittering over to the woman. “Do you think he’s finally going to propose?” He moons sarcastically- then he squawks and dances away when she swats at his rear. Cat calls and snickers follow him out of the room and down the hallway, and Gavin laughs all the way to Joel’s office.

  
Joel rarely ever left his designated room. Everyone knew that. He was constantly locked up in there, deliberately distant from the other gang members, working away. He never went out in the field, unless there was a rare emergency- he was more brain than brawn, not unlike Gavin, but he was seemingly constantly nervous and a little neurotic. His long fingers were always constantly touching, toying or twiddling, and he was always dropping things. A dropped weapon in a fight was a death sentence.

  
But Geoff liked him, even if few other people did. But most importantly, Geoff trusted him. So everyone else sucked it up and got on with it.

  
Gavin made his way to Joel’s office with no interruptions- only a few simple nods of his head and murmured ‘hi’s’ to some of the lower ranking members he passed. Eventually, he found himself rapping at a heavy office door, and after a brief pause a throat was cleared, and a low, familiar voice called “Come in, it’s open.”

  
Joel Heyman was a tall man, much taller than Gavin himself. He was broad shouldered, but had a skinny form, and he always wore ridiculously baggy shirts and hoodies, his frame engulf by the thick fabrics. His face was a pointed and a little gaunt, nearly always covered in dark scruff, but he managed to remain undeniable handsome with shinning intelligent eyes and fluffy looking dark hair. And as always, he was sat at his desk, dwarfed by paperwork and books. He was staring down at a letter, his gaze hard, as if he were trying to absorb the words he read. His other hand rolled what appeared to be a small ball of tack between his fingers.

  
“I never thought being a criminal would mean so much paperwork.” Gavin took in the towering stacks with comically wide eyes.  
Joel glanced up at him and peered at his face with squinted eyes for a few brief seconds before he suddenly tore his gaze away. The letter regained his attention. “Gavin,” He said by way of greeting. “This job requires organization, close relationships with the other groups we allow to exist and discreet behaviour. Criminals such as yourself should understand that.”

  
Frowning, Gavin opened his mouth to shoot off whatever crude and sharp observation he could think of first, but another voice in the room stopped him short.

  
“Vav!” Ray crowed from his seat just behind the door. He jumped up, and almost skipped across the office, slapping a hand heavily on Gavin’s back. Gavin jumped at the hard and unanticipated blow, a little spooked, but once he laid eyes on his friend his grin matched Ray’s roguish one perfectly.

  
“X-ray!” He beamed, and he swiped a hand at his friend’s flat stomach playfully. He nimbly dodged, barking out a laugh. “What are you doing here?”

  
His grin never faltering, Ray jerked a thumb over at Joel, who now sat watching them with a distasteful expression. “Some say I’m here to help Joel get through offers and tributes from other gangs…”

  
“But I’d say he’s here aggravating me and being the bane of my life.” Joel finished for him. He put the letter to one side. It lay abandoned, but never forgotten. “I think I’m getting a lot less work done.”

  
Gavin personally wasn’t sure who he felt more sympathy for- Ray, the bright and playful kid stuck with a stick in the mud, or Joel, so stuck in his old traditional ways and having a sarcastic and loud little shit dumped with him to ‘help’. But Ray only laughed louder, completely unaffected, and hushed him.

  
“I’m very useful. And a joy to be around.” His eyes gleamed behind him glasses. “I’m your Navi.”

Joel grunted. “God help me.” He shook his head, turning to Gavin. “Anyway.” He stressed. “Before you get any ideas about teaming up with ‘X-Ray’ to piss me off, you have work to do.” He leant forward over his desk in an almost conspiratorial manner, and Gavin moved towards him, away from Ray. “We need you to take a message to Geoff.”

  
Gavin arched a brow. “A message? I’m a delivery boy now?”

  
Joel’s expression crumpled into a scowl, and deep frown lines appeared on his forehead. The crows feet around his eyes, once barely noticeable, became amplified. “An important delivery boy.” He rectified. “This is a hugely important message that Geoff needs to know about. It can’t be left to stagnate.”

  
Gavin immediately sobered, narrowing his brows. Joel was a serious and pessimistic man by nature, always expecting the worst, but this sounded different. It unsettled him. “Is it bad news?”

  
To Gavin’s surprise, Joel shook his head. “It’s perfect news. We received word of an incident that occurred a few days ago- a disaster for Walsh’s gang, and a great benefit to us. It’s led to a very serious consequence. Walsh thinks Bianca caused the problem, and so he’s planned co-ordinated attacks on several of her warehouses next week. If he succeeds, Bianca is weakened. If we subtly let Bianca know what he plans, they could destroy one another. No matter what happens, we benefit from it.” Joel’s lips curled up into a smile, the first Gavin had ever seen from him. He almost did a double take. “ I need Geoff to be told so he can make a decision.”

  
The uneasy feeling lifted, the rain cloud passing by. Ray cackled, already dreaming of the carnage, and Gavin snickered. “Brilliant,” He said, just as Ray snorted, “That’s amazing.”

  
Joel hummed his agreement, the alien smile still playing on his lips. “Gavin, I need you to tell that to Geoff. Now. Don’t forget anything- not the names, not the place. This isn’t Chinese goddamn whispers. It’s of the utmost importance.”

  
“Got it.” Gavin flashed him two thumbs up. “Where can I find the boss man?”

  
“He’s watching one of those fights again.” Joel wrinkled his nose-the frown lines once again creasing his once smooth forehead- but didn’t share his obvious distaste. “In the Marshall building. You might be able to catch him if you hurry.”

  
The name creates a spark of recognition, and it flares up inside him. Gavin’s eyes widen involuntarily, and he stares. His body tensed, and his mind raced. “The Marshall building? Are you sure?”

  
Joel leant back in his seat, his dark eyebrows narrowing. He reached back and rubbed at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. Why?”

  
Michael, he thinks, and his belly seems to flop and do cartwheels. If he were a teenage girl, his face would flush red. If he were a puppy, his tongue would loll out of his mouth as he panted with excitement, his tail thumping out and down. Instead, he is Gavin Free, so he is an uncontrollable idiot instead. “Tippy top!” He laughed, and he ignored the exasperated groans that came from both Joel and Ray. “I’ll be on my way.”

  
He hoped that Michael will be there- if not actually fighting, sitting at Geoff’s heels like a loyal, faithful hound, or perhaps simply spectating. He prefered the idea of Michael fighting- all sweaty and red faced, just how Gavin liked him.

  
Either way, he would talk to Michael tonight, no matter what.

x-x-x-x-x

Before the gang came along, the Marshal building had stood long abandoned. It’s residents had abandoned it long ago, before Gavin had even learnt to walk. He knew almost nothing about it’s history. He supposed some of the older or the more curious members knew all about it, and the reasons why it had been left to fall apart.

  
Really, Gavin didn’t give a damn who lived in it and when. He wasn’t one for dwelling in the past. He lived in the moment, anticipating the future. All he really knew for certain is that not long after Geoff came into power, he claimed it as his own, and secret renovations began almost immediately.

  
Ray had said that before they began the building was in a terrible state. The garden was a tropical forest, stray cats and gaunt foxes prowling amongst the overgrown weeds and bushes. Every single window was smashed, he said, only jagged panes of glass remaining. Doors were smashed in, carpets were ripped up, rubbish was strewn all across the floor. All in all, not a good place to live, and certainly no place to run a business. But Geoff changed all that.

  
The sun was setting with practised bravado as Gavin stared up at the Marshall building, and the shadow it cast was long and dark. It really was a beautiful place, he thought. The garden was kept perfectly neat, not a blade of grass out of place, and the admittedly gorgeous, vibrant plants were in bloom. The windows were all replaced and the door was even given a fresh coat of paint. It all looked so innocent. It was a beautiful place to hide the ugly truth, and the dark deeds within.

  
He approached the door quickly, not wanting to miss the show he knew waited inside. He knocked jauntily, and when the door didn’t open fast enough for his liking, he did it again, harder and louder. He heard slow footfalls and a low, irritated groan- and the door swung open, revealing a scowling red haired girl.

  
“Lindsay,” He greeted, making sure his grin was dazzlingly bright. “How are you this fine evening?”

  
She eyed him suspiciously, her eyes squinted shut. She barred the way indoors, looking him up and down judgmentally. Eventually, she spoke. “Here for Geoff?”

  
“As always.” He confirmed, and she gave him a tight lipped, exhausted smile. She stepped back into the house, and he stepped indoors, turning his head to gaze at her while he passed. Now he was indoors, he could hear a faint roar of noise and activity- no doubt coming from downstairs. He waited until she firmly shut the door and bolted it carefully before speaking again. “You look as tired as dicks.”

  
She frowned, probably wondering what precisely a tired dick looked like- they both knew fully well- before she rolled her eyes. “That’s because I am.” She turned away, and she disappeared into the next room. He followed, catching up with a brisk jog, and remained close to her heels at all times. “Do you know how many fights we’ve been having of a night? Do you know how loud these fuckers are?”

  
Having only watched a proper fight once, he couldn’t speak for all of them. But that one was ridicolously loud, and sometimes in the silence of the night he thought he could still hear it, a distant thunder. He hummed. “No, but judging bythe look at you they’ve been keeping you up all night.”

“Damn fucking right they have.” She led him deeper into the huge house, it’s rooms a twisting, turning warren. “I haven’t had a good nights sleep for days.”

  
“Bring it up with Geoff?” He suggested, and she snorted.

  
“You bring it up with Geoff,” She told him, and he thought about it. He quickly blanched, and he swore he felt his dick actually retreat into his body. He squeaked, and he didn’t have to say anything else. She smirked, and said “Exactly.” Lindsay stepped into one room, and Gavin noticed the sudden change in atmosphere. The house had been airy and open, the sun’s last light streaming in through the windows and opened curtains. It was almost welcoming. But this room, the one with the staircase leading to the old wine cellar, was shut off to the golden light. The curtains were tightly drawn and all the lights were off, and there was a thin layer of dust on most of the surfaces. The air seemed thicker, harder to breath. And the noise of people was much louder, the roar much closer than before, all coming from the closed cellar door.

  
“It’s pretty hot in there.” His companion warned as she shut the door behind them. Most people called this paranoia- they called it common sense. Gavin immediately went for the cellar, and gripped the handle. With a heave- it was surprisingly heavy he lifted it up. The sounds and artificial light both leaked out, and he winced at the sudden assault on his eyes and ears. Jesus, it was loud. “Be careful.”

  
“I always am.” He flashed her a cheeky grin, and he jumped inside. He barely heard her sigh, and the thud as she quickly drops the door back over his head.

  
The noise almost physically bowls him over, as if he had reemerged from deep, crushing water or been sucked into the void of space. It rushes up the stupidly long stairs to meet him, and it swallows him whole and he immediately regrets ever stepping inside. And Lindsay was right- within a minute, Gavin is roasting alive. There’s a huge amount of people, all red faced and sweating- Gavin vaguely notes that the gang must be raking it in with all the bets- and they’re all shouting and screaming. He feels a brief pang of sympathy for Lindsay, and makes a mental note to send her flowers. And earplugs.

 

He carefully makes his way down the steps, deeper into the light, towards the mass of people. It was the biggest cellar Gavin had ever seen. He recalled that the old owners of the house used to work with wine- making it, selling it, tasting it, he wasn’t sure, but to do it right, they needed a huge cellar for storage. If you looked carefully, you could still see marks on the wall where cupboards were ripped from the wall during Geoff’s ordered remodelling. The cellar stretched far back, but Gavin couldn’t see the wall over the heads of the audience. The room was long and it was wide, but it was packed. People scurried across the room, grabbing each other, placing bets and shouting jests. Money changed hands quicker than Gavin could count. The air was charged with static, and it made gooseflesh ripple across his skin despite the heat.

  
Gavin stood on his tip toes, peering over the crowd, hoping the catch a glimpse of Geoff, or Jack, or someone he knew. He certainly wasn’t keeping an eye out for a flash of auburn curls. He saw nothing. Lowering himself back down, he surveyed the people around him. Spotting an underling, he reached out and grabbed his shoulder. The poor kid, barely out of his teens almost jumped out of his skin. Wild eyes stared up at Gavin. “Hey, when does the fight start?”

  
“Two minutes.” He answered, and as soon as Gavin released him with muttered thanks he was off, lost in the crowd, heading towards the door. Gavin immediately lost interest, and went the opposite way- deeper into the turbulent, chaotic crowd. By the time he got to the edge of the ring inside the crowd, his shoulders were sore with being slammed into and his feet ached after being stepped on several times. He had glowered and scowled his way into the centre, and most had scurried out of his path like insects under a rock. The ring was mostly empty, a few under hands doing some last minute preparations, but if Michael was actually fighting tonight, he was nowhere to be seen.

  
Disappointment filled his stomach to the brim, and he couldn’t keep the frown at bay. He huffed out a breath, reaching a hand and rubbing at his hair as he thought. Maybe if he waited just a little longer. Maybe if he asked Geoff about him-

  
A heavy hand clamped down hard on his shoulder, and firmly gripped him.

  
“Gavin,” A rough and low voice spoke, horrifyingly close in his ear. Gavin suddenly had sympathy for the boy he had grabbed earlier- he yelped and jolted in surprise, just as panicked as he was. He spun where he stood, and he was greeted with the terrible sight of Jack Pattillo scowling down at him.

  
“Fuck.” Was his immediate reaction, and then a flush burned in his cheeks. “Shit, I mean-”

  
With his other, huge paw-like hand Jack waved away his apologies. “What the hell are you doing here, Gavin?” He demanded. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  
With anyone else, he would have shrugged the hand off of his shoulder and said the first clever thing he could think of, but with Jack, he didn’t have the balls. He straightened his posture, keeping his legs and arms close together, and bowed his head. “I need to give Geoff a message.” He spoke meekly.

  
Jack stared at him, his eyes narrowed, saying nothing for several long moments. It was long enough to make Gavin’s skin crawl and his body squirm under his harsh gaze. He kept his eyes low, almost demurely. Eventually, Jack huffed out a sigh and released him, taking a step back. The crowd parted like a wave for him, and no one stood within three inches of him. No one looked at him. Clever people, Gavin though, impressed.

  
“Fine.” Jack grunted. “Follow me.”

  
By the time they made it through the crowd to Geoff- Gavin noted that with Jack, no one knocked into his poor abused shoulders, and he completely understood why- there was a hum running through the crowd, like an electrical current. The volume had dropped a little, but only risen in intensity. The fight would begin soon, it seemed to say, and everyone was holding their breath for it.

  
Geoff stood directly at one of the ring’s edges, and Gavin wondered just how the hell he had missed him. There was no one around him, and he appeared to be alone- but sidling along in the crowd and watching their boss carefully was Ryan and Burnie. It was like watching two hungry sharks blending in with a shoal of fish. As Gavin approached, Geoff turned his head to him and arched a dark eyebrow. His smile was lazy and casual. In an old, slightly faded punk band shirt and dark but plain jeans with several tattoos curling up his arms he looked more like a cool dad than the boss of a hugely influential gang. Gavin had known people who had made the mistake of getting too comfortable with him. Emphasis on ’had known’. “Gavin.” He greeted. He gestured to the free spot on his left, and Gavin joined him, leaning on the side of the ring. Their elbows were an inch apart. “I saw you sneaking around.”

  
“I was looking for you.” Gavin responded, and Geoff snorted.

  
“Evidently.” He shot Jack, who lingered a few steps behind Gavin, a smile that seemed genuine. “Thanks. Go back to what you were doing before.” With a wordless nod, Jack turned and melted into the crowd. Now he was gone, Gavin eased a little, but he always stayed on guard. “I’ll ask what you want in a minute. The fight’s gonna start.” Appearing absentminded, Geoff interlaced his fingers and cracked the knuckles of both his hands. Gavin tried not to flinch. “I’ve bet some money on my favourite boy.”

  
“Who?” Gavin quirked his head to one side and inquired, but his words were swallowed by a rush of sudden noise. The crowd abruptly went insane, the volume rising to a level Gavin didn’t really think was possible. Gavin jumped and blinked owlishly, bewildered. The under hands in the ring had dispersed- and there was two small groups of people suddenly at each corner of the ring. On the side closest to Gavin and Geoff, there was a hulking man dressed in a red robe, and he was almost twice Gavin’s side. He was heavily built, his arms thick with muscle, and the first thing that popped into Gavin’s mind was an image of Popeye. His hair was the colour of gold, but it was cropped short, showing off the hard line of his skull. A man, his coach who stands beside him, is dwarfed by his size.

  
Quite frankly, he was terrifying, and not the sort of man Gavin would be eager to have a conversation with in a dark alley at night.  
But he was distracted from this giant in no time at all- as in the other corner, Michael stood, and he was just as glorious as he remembered.

  
As if noting Gavin’s gaze and the way he sucks in a breath, Geoff laughed. “I bet on him.” He tells him, and he sounds like the cat that swallowed the canary. “I bet a lot of money on my boy.”

  
Gavin didn’t respond. His eyes are locked onto Michael, who looks awfully small compared to Popeye. He watched as Michael rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck, his concentration wholly on his opponent. His own man standing next to him shouts directly into his ear, but Michael doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to him. His hair shines under the harsh light, and his dark eyes are bright and energized.

“Michael’s tiny compared to him.” Gavin says, a little dumbly. “He’s gonna get his head smacked in.”

  
Geoff clucked his tongue once. “You’ve never seen him fight, have you?”

  
“Once, sir.” Gavin’s thin lips twisted, and his nervous habit of chewing on his lips reared its ugly head. Geoff clearly didn't remember, but Gavin remembered well- he remembered the awe he felt as Michael brought down a brick of man, much bigger than him.  
But this guy was different. “Wait and see then, Gavin.” His boss said mysteriously, and Gavin wasn’t comforted by that. Not at all. He was quite sure there was meant to be an announcer of some sort, and most importantly a referee or some kind of medical official, but there wasn’t at this match. A pang of concern filled him when he realised he couldn’t spot any of these things, but then a referee materialized from seemingly nowhere, clambering into the ring and moving to stand in the direct centre of it, holding his hands up for quiet. As if, Gavin almost snorted, but he was proved wrong- the shouts and calls of bets don’t stop completely, but they fall, and the announcer began to shout.

  
“Welcome to tonight’s match!” He began, his voice booming and surprisingly deep for such a small person. The crowd roared like a pack of lions. He wondered how the hell none of these people were heard out in the street. I’m so sorry, Lindsay. “In one corner, we have Nathan Stewart!” Seemingly, he needs no further introduction- the announcer clams up, and the audience screams like they’ve all been set alight. Popeye lifts a fist and cheers, grinning devilishly. Michael says nothing. Once the audience calms, the announcer begins again. “And in this corner, we have Michael “Rage Quit” Jones!”

  
Michael remains as stoic as ever as the crowd shrieks for him, and while Geoff does the same Gavin can feel the pride radiating from him. He’s almost infected by it. The only problem was that expectation walked hand in hand with pride- and Gavin feared for Michael if he lost this fight.

  
Both boxers slip mouth guards in and pull on their gloves, and Gavin is still searching for a medical officer. Still not finding one, he gives Geoff a helpless look. Not understanding, the boss stares at him until Gavin asks. “Where’s the medical guys?”

  
Geoff laughs, and after a moment where he feels insulted and affronted, something cold settles in Gavin’s stomach when he realises he’s laughing at his naivety. “This is illegal boxing.” He tells him simply. “They know what they’re getting into.”

  
The ice spreads all over him, frost in his veins and overwhelming his heart. The crowds reignited passion almost deafened him, and although the announcers mouth is moving, Gavin can’t hear a word he’s saying. He has no time to protest.

  
The boxers both strip out of their robes, shoving them at their coaches. Popeye is huge and tanned, built like a bounty hunter, while Michael is soft and pale skinned, his chest and stomach lightly toned. He has his own tattoos, although significantly less than Geoff. They both wear long boxing shorts, both plain white. Gavin watches, nervous, as they step into the centre of the ring and stare each other down.

  
They tap their heavy gloves together, intensely glaring over each other’s hands, and then the bell rings- and the fight begins.  
Gavin’s throat tightens when Popeye immediately lashes out viciously, but Michael springs back, quick on his feet. He keeps his gloved hands close to his face, and keeps moving, hopping and shifting from left to right. Popeye follows up with two quick jabs, one hand at a time, but Michael successfully blocks them. It’s the most intense thing Gavin has ever watched, and he’s breathless, sucking in gulps off startled air whenever either man attempted a risky or especially violent move. He doesn’t breathe easily until after a scuffle, where Gavin’s eyes simply can’t keep up with the movements, and Michael lands a lucky hit. He swings, and hits Popeye directly in the face- and he’s out and on his arse.

  
The crowd goes wild, and Geoff hums in satisfaction as Gavin mutters a only half serious prayer. He’d never boxed before, and he didn’t know how to play. He didn’t know the rules. Hell, he didn’t know if there were rules in this type of boxing. He was too afraid to ask. He watched with Geoff as both men returned to their corners, one coach grinning like an idiot while the other scowls and shouts what seems to be highly unwelcome advice in Popeye’s ear.

  
Before he knows it, they’re both up and in the centre again, and after another, more vicious tap and another bell ring, they’re fighting again. Popeye has anger on his side, and he aims several sharp jabs directly at Michael’s face. Michael keeps his hands close, his body seemingly curling in on itself, and manages to deflect the blows. It was growing increasingly difficult to concentrate on the two.

Gavin’s ears were beginning to ring with the noise, and the lights were suddenly far too harsh on his eyes. The movements of the crowd that had grown around him was disorientating- the only thing that kept him standing upright was Geoff’s immediate presence. And Michael’s pale skin was now covered in a faint sheen of sweat, and he glistened under the overhead lights. His three quarter length pants were dangerously low on his hips, and Gavin had to sink his teeth into his lower lip and dig his nails into his palms to keep himself under control. Now is not the time to jump the lad, no matter how attractive he is. Behave, he scolds himself silently.  
Popeye was growing increasingly frustrated, especially as a few jeers rose from the crowd. It was ridiculous, in a way. It was such a cliché that a man as huge as him is beaten by a smaller, lithe kid just because he got mad- but it still happened. He was still stupid enough to fall for it. His blows get faster and faster, building to a crescendo, and for an awful second Michael slips up and Gavin thinks ‘that’s it’, especially when Michael takes a blow to the head and staggers- but Michael reasserts himself, keeping himself steady and hits back, landing a hard blow on Popeye’s nose. It doesn’t knock him out, it doesn’t do much at all- but it pisses him off. And gradually, he starts flagging, and Michael takes his chance to increase his tempo. He shifted closer to his opponent, moving faster, his gloved hands still lifted high. But he grew more aggressive, faster as Popeye got slower.

  
By the end of the match, which came fairly quickly and in a blur, Gavin decided that he was never going to watch a boxing match ever again- even if Michael was delightfully rumpled and sweaty by the end of it. He doesn’t think his now delicate, shredded nerves could take it. But the crowd lapped it up greedily, and they couldn’t get enough of it. There were cheers for Michael, the odd boo for Popeye, who staggered back into his corner and collapsed against the rope, his face red with both exertion and blood.

  
Michael only smiled once- when the referee grabbed his arm and held it aloft, declaring him the victor. The crowd screamed for him, a majority of them clearly having bet their money on him, and while Geoff never made a peep there was a content, satisfied edge to his smile. And Michael’s eyes scanned the crowd, only stopping when they fell on Geoff. The victorious boy presumed to nod at him- and Geoff only grinned back, before pushing himself off the rope of the ring and moving off in search of the money he had won. Michael dropped his gaze at that moment- and spotted Gavin. They stared at one another, and Gavin watched as recognition stirred in the auburn haired man’s eyes. The smile that still played on his lips grew, the corners of his mouth twitching, and Michael bowed his head in recognition.

  
They shared a brief moment, right there, and although Gavin couldn’t place a name on it he knew it was a good thing. Michael tore his gaze away, distracted by his beaming coach, and Gavin slipped away into the crowd after Geoff. If there was a skip in his step afterwards, he didn’t notice.

x-x-x-x-x

“Walsh and Bianca? Next week?” Geoff voice was sharp and short, and it cracked like a bolt of lightning. “Are you sure that’s right?”

  
“Yes, sir.” Gavin spoke honestly. “That’s exactly what Joel told me.”

  
He eyed him for a moment, as if trying to detect some kind of lie or mistake- and when he found none, he threw back his head and laughed rowdily. Michael and Gavin shared a unreadable glance. The boxer had cleaned up, taking a quick shower to wash away the sweat, and he had joined the two at Geoff’s command. He had come dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a black tank, with a navy hoodie thrown over it. It’s simplicity suited him- but Gavin guessed a bin bag would have suited him. He hadn’t said anything to Gavin yet, but he had shot him a few, rather intense looks. The man had no idea what it all meant. “Today is a good day.” Geoff reached over, wrapping an arm around Michael’s shoulder and tugging him close. “My favourite boy wins his match and my competition are fucking idiots.”

  
Michael smiled with some difficulty. He had retained a split lip in the fight, and his lips were swollen. “Of course I won.” His voice was a little thick, but confident. “What were you expecting?”

  
Man’s got balls, Gavin thought appreciatively when Geoff only laughed harder. I like that. “I only expect the best from you, Michael.” He clapped him on the shoulder, hard. “And I think my boys deserve a reward.” He looked across the rapidly emptying room.

“Gentlemen.” He called over, and Gavin tried not to screech as Jack, Ryan and Burnie still manage to seemingly appear out of nowhere. “We’re going to the usual place.”

  
Do I have a choice? Gavin considered asking- but Geoff was proud and satisfied, which was rare, and Gavin certainly didn’t want to bring down his wrath. Geoff practically hauled Michael over, and he wrapped his own arm possessively around Gavin’s own shoulder. He felt dwarfed and uncomfortable while Michael looked perfectly at ease, but even his features grew tight when they were more marched than shepherded back out of the cellar. As they were guided rather forcefully through the house, Gavin saw that Lindsay seemed to be no longer there. He found himself torn on this- his would have appreciated a friendly face and a potential saviour, but he didn’t want to drag her into something like this. The less damage, the better. He could see that the sun had finally set through the windows, and the streetlights had automatically turned on, bathing the streets in harsh artificial light.

  
They were somewhat shepherded into Geoff’s car, some sleek beauty Gavin could appreciate even if he knew next to nothing about cars, and whisked away, and Gavin hoped it wasn’t to their ultimate doom.

  
It wasn’t- it was just a normal bar.

  
The bar was smaller than Gavin expected it to be, and much cozier. It had a warm atmosphere, friendly and sweet, the kind a family run business had. It made sense, too- everyone Gavin saw behind the bar had a common denominator- thick, chocolate brown hair. He assumed the older gentlemen behind the bar was the father of the three assistants who scurried around, cleaning up old tables and making the drinks. And there was a welcome mat on the floor at the entrance, the kind of touch only a family run business had, and it even had a picture of dogs playing snooker on the wall. He thought that kind of shit only existed in movies, but apparently he was wrong. He couldn’t really see Geoff Ramsey, practically the embodiment of terror, sitting at one of these well worn but charming tables sipping a beer.

  
But the bar was difficult to find, lost in the warren of the city streets, firmly squeezed between a shut down second hand bookshop and a tattoo parlor. It probably didn’t get too many customers- enough to keep it running, but likely not enough to gain any notable profit. There weren’t many people there- especially at this time of night, and the streets were narrow and secluded.

He supposed that’s why Geoff liked it so much.

  
The tense air that had been stifling in the cellar and the car was driving Gavin crazy, and when he first saw the inside of the bar he had been filled with hope that this place might let them relax. But he was a fool for thinking that. The warm atmosphere he respected immediately melted away and was replaced by what seemed to be a cold, crushing dread as soon as Geoff’s foot crossed the border between the bar and the street. Gavin felt it change as intensely as a slap to the face, and it made his skin crawl.

  
The bar was modest, and very overstaffed. There was only a little trickle of conversation ebbing through the place- but it ceased when the group stepped inside. Once chatty people clammed up, and stared over the rims of their glasses. The servers seemed to freeze, and the father tried to casually move forward and mutter something into each of their ears. If the others saw it, they pretended they hadn’t.

  
Geoff stepped forward, neglecting to look at any of the over customers. He made his way over to the only remaining window seat, sliding in without a moments hesitation. They all followed and took their seats- Geoff, Michael and Gavin on one side, Ryan, Jack and Burnie on the other. Gavin would have killed not to sit on that side- but Geoff’s friends took their seats before Gavin had a chance to steal them. Gavin sat directly opposite Jack, and tried not to wilt under the intensity of his suspicious glower. A girl scurried over to them as soon as they took a seat, her entire frame tense with nerves. Gavin didn’t realise until long after he had left that no-one else in the bar had their own personal server.

  
“Hello.” She greeted shyly, her voice as small as a mouse. She tried to shrink into herself and make herself seem smaller, or perhaps to make herself disappear. It didn’t work. “What can I get for you, sirs?”

  
For the first time in his life, Gavin did not want to drink. If he had to spend time with Geoff, he wanted to spend it completely on his guard. But for the sake of politeness, he ordered the first brand of beer he could think of, and forced a smile of thanks at the girl. The others all ordered, each drink harder than the last. He wondered what Geoff’s liver looked like- then decided he definitely didn’t want to know.

  
Throughout the night, Geoff filled the silent gaps with small conversations. Gavin mainly listened, unless he was directly addressed. He listened intently whenever Michael spoke, answering Geoff’s questions about his workout, how his family was, what he had been up to recently. Ryan and Jack had a small muffled conversation now and again, too quiet for Gavin to hear even from across the table. Mostly, Gavin just nursed his drink and remained silent. His first beer turned into a second. The second was never finished.

  
Time passed, far too slowly for Gavin’s liking. He felt like he was trapped in Purgatory, tortured and punished the whole while but waiting, longing for promised relief. He was in that bar with the scariest men in the world for what felt like days, and he itched to leave, but he knew in reality it was only a for a few hours. Late night turned into early morning, and Gavin was striving to think of several good excuses to leave when Geoff hummed to himself, and checked the time on his phone.

  
“We should get going.” He announced, and Gavin felt he might cry with joy. He fixed Jack with a steady look. “Griffon will be expecting me.” Gavin took a final swig of his beer and went to push his glass away- but Geoff turned to him and regarded him with a smile. He looked like a football coach about to give his team a pep talk, and it was incredibly disconcerting. “You and Michael should stay, if neither of you have anything to do. I’d like for my two boys to get along.”

  
Gavin leapt at the chance, perking up in his seat, and Michael noticed. He rolled his eyes like marbles, but he smiled, only a touch exasperated. Geoff got up, his friends all rising with him, and pulled out his wallet, opening it up and dropping a few bills onto the table. “For your next drinks.” He explained.

  
“Thanks, boss.” Michael grinned at him, roguishly- but as soon as he left, the smile fell, and he leaned back in the chair, stretching. “Fuck, that was as awkward as hell.” He snickered faintly, taking a long gulp of his beer rather than the more dignified sips he was taking in Geoff’s presence.

  
Gavin hummed in agreement, his smirk rising to match Michael’s. “I get you.” He put his empty beer to one side, not yet wanting another. “But I didn’t think Geoff’s little pet Michael would be so disrespectful to his master.” The boxer spluttered out a laugh, dangerously close to spraying alcohol out of his nose, and Gavin arched an eyebrow in challenge. “What?”

  
“I hate how you say my name.” He confessed, snorting into his drink. “It’s so fucking annoying.”

  
“You’re annoying.” Gavin shot back defensively, frowning- and he pouted when Michael only laughed harder, now almost spilling his beer. “Okay, maybe I could have thought of a better comeback.”

  
“Just maybe?” He snorted ungracefully, and Gavin found he only liked him more. He was gorgeous and he was fit, and it turned out he was funny too. He was practically perfect. “You’re a terrible person, Michael.” He repeated his name, stressing it, making it as pronounced as possible, and Michael laughed for the third time- and certainly not the last time that night.

  
It turned into a fun night out, despite the awful start. He wasn’t expecting anything to come of it- but an unlikely friendship sparked that night, spawned by the similar interests of video games and drinking until they could barely see their own hand in front of their eyes. It was difficult getting home afterwards, having little idea where they were and they may have pissed off a cab driver, and then a second after the first kicked them out, but all in all, it was one of the best nights out Gavin had ever had.

  
And then it turned into a regular thing, to Gavin’s delight, after Gavin made sure to figure out whenever Michael’s matches were and made up a reason to attend them all. Not only did he get to meet up with Michael afterwards, always buying him the first round in celebration for a win because he never lost, not once, he also got to see him fight, and even won a little money off him once. It gradually built to the point where they exchanged phone numbers, and Michael began calling him up, asking if he wanted to meet up for what they dubbed ‘bevs’. It never went any further than a few drinks, no matter how much Gavin wanted it to.

  
And then one night, they got a little closer, a little less drunk than usual, and all that changed.

  
Their usual chat about video games, tattoos and movies did occur, like it always did, but there was something in the air, mixing with the slight tension that was always there between them, and it lead to a very different discussion, with particular results.

  
“Mind me asking how you got into the gang?” Michael suddenly spoke up, looking over the rim of his glass. Gavin blinked, stunned to silence for a few long seconds- but he quickly recovered, and thought, ‘what the hell.’

  
“University.” He shrugged, as if that simple word cleared everything up. To his surprise, Michael just laughed bitterly as if it did, and took a long swig of his drink. “And then Dan.”

  
“I get you.” His lips twisted into a smirk when he thudded the now empty glass onto a table. “It’s always the way.”

  
They sat in silence for a long while, the quiet slightly less companionable than usual. Gavin stared almost morosely into the bottom of his glass as if he could read his future in the amber liquid, and he suddenly didn’t feel like drinking. Surrounded by people with broken dreams and uncertain futures, he began to feel sick to his stomach.

  
“This is the part where you’re supposed to ask me how I got into the gang.” Michael spoke up, surveying him with a firm but playful glare. “I might think you’re not interested in me and go off to find someone more willing.” His eyes gleamed, as if with some private joke he didn’t feel like sharing.

  
Gavin put his drink to one side, and leaned forward, placing his chin in his hand. “Well, you have all my attention now.” He exaggeratedly winked at him, and flushed with pleasure when Michael chuckled. “Tell me all about it.”

  
Michael sat back in his chair and raised his hand- and within what seemed like seconds, the girl was back. Gavin waited patiently as she took his drink in one hand, and nodded silently when he murmured ‘same again, please.’ She disappeared, and the boxer turned back to him. He paused for several long beats before speaking. “I needed the money.” He shrugged, helplessly. “Geoff was paying much more than both of my part time jobs- the only thing I could get- were.”

  
Gavin’s lips quirked, even though it was by no means funny. “Deep in debt?” Always the way, he almost parrots.

  
But Michael shook his head. “My brother needed urgent hospital care my family definitely couldn’t afford.” His eyes darken, as if he were lost in an old memory. “He got sick, and he needed that treatment. Asshole doctors wouldn’t let him have it. So I had to do something.” He shrugged again. “It seemed obvious. And clever, at the time.” He chuckled, his laughter sour. “The naivety of youth, huh?”

  
Suddenly sobered now, Gavin’s teasing manner and expression disappeared, and he drew back like he had been slapped. The nature of the chat had changed so fast he felt like he had whiplash.

  
“Jesus, Michael.” He muttered. “That’s rough.” He wanted to reach over, touch Michael’s hand and provide the comfort he looked like he desperately needed. Knowing the touch would almost certainly be unwelcome, he pulled both hands under the table and forced them to rest on his knees. Instead, he kicked out his foot and softly nudged Michael’s. “I’m sorry, lad. Is he alright?”

  
Michael kicked back, a little harder, and Gavin’s heavy heart shed all the weight it carried with relief. “He’s fine. This was years ago.” The American smiled, but his features were taut. “And I’ve been stuck working and being Geoff’s favourite boy ever since.”

  
Gavin was saved from having to summon an appropriate reply by the arrival of their personal waitress. She placed Michael’s order in front of him silently- but jumped when Gavin spoke up. I think I do actually need a drink. A stronger one. “Can we have two Crown and Cokes?” She nodded quickly, and fled. The men stayed quiet while she was gone, listening to the sounds of the other patrons around them rapidly getting drunker- but when she reappeared with both their drinks and promptly disappeared again, Michael spoke up.

  
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” He asked, only half sarcastically, but he still knocked back a decent amount of his first drink easily and without pause.

  
“Was it obvious?” Gavin shot back without missing a beat, and sips at his new drink. The strong flavour bloomed across his tongue, and he can’t help but smile. The alcohol, combined with the booze he’s already drunk, works quickly, and the buzz is already growing in his head. He feels pleasantly numbed. “I thought you might need it considering that you’re telling me a pretty personal and depressing story.”

  
He thought Michael might be a tad offended- but he just laughed again, and finished off his first drink surprisingly quickly. He wondered if all the alcohol was rushing to his head. His face was flushed a faint pink and his darkened eyes shone, all of the signs pointing to yes.

  
“Fair enough.” He chuckled, shoving his empty glass aside and bringing his new drink closer. He sighed. “I hate this gig.” Gavin watched silently as Michael removed his beanie, revealing wild and somewhat adorable dark curls. He ran his hand through them uncaringly, mussing them up even further, before rebalancing the hat on his head. “I did it to help my brother. And now I can’t get out. I’m trapped in this hellhole.”

  
Sympathy clutched Gavin’s heart in a firm grip, and he felt the urge to comfort the other man again. He resisted the urge once more, this time gripping his glass as if for dear life. It threatened to be crushed in his hand. “I’m sure there’s something else you could do.” Gavin told him, even though he was positive he was wrong. Once you got involved in a life of crime, you never left.  
Michael played along with him, although he clearly knew it was bullshit. “Well, what else do you think I could do?” He narrowed his eyes at him. “I don’t have any proper skills. Or qualifications.”

  
“I’m sure you could do something.” Gavin told him seriously, his aim to reassure the man who had become his friend- but then he grinned as he had a devilish thought. He brought his foot up again, and brushed it up against Michael’s ankle, rubbing it up the length of his leg. He watched Michael suck in a breath. “Handsome lad like you.” He purred, a sly grin curling on his lips.  
Michael froze, and gave him a look, and Gavin felt the sudden smouldering warmth of arousal in his belly. He grinned, and took another drink, faking innocence. Judging by Michael’s expression, he was a shitty actor.

  
“Are you flirting with me?” Michael asked him, accusingly, but he didn’t sound infuriated. He seemed more interested, and the man seemed to look him up and down, taking him in as if he were a meal to be devoured. Gavin suppressed a shiver, struggling to keep up the playful act.

  
“I might be.” He replied airily, and Michael stared at him like he was a caged animal on display at the zoo. The auburn haired man never tore his dark gaze away, his eyes carefully calculating. Gavin saw the way his grip on the edge of the table was painfully tight. He knuckles stood out against his skin, and they were discoloured to a snow like white. He was on edge, and Gavin loved being the man who made him that way. “So?” He eventually asked, a little grin forming. “What are you going to do about it?”

  
Michael abruptly shut him up, surging forward across the table, and sloppily pressing his lips to Gavin’s.

  
This kiss crackled with a kind of electric energy- it was the buildup of tension over the last couple of weeks, coming to a head at that precise moment. And Michael’s lips were practically perfect- softer and warmer than Gavin had imagined. He hadn’t imagined the strong taste of booze in his mouth, but that was okay. Things never went quite the way you expected them to.

  
They kissed hungrily in the shadows of that secretive and dark corner, and no one else knew anything about it.

  
Then, Michael suddenly broke the kiss far too soon and left Gavin panting and wanting more- so much more. Michael’s flush had deepened to a reddish hue and his pink lips were damp and swollen, but he still managed to look deadly serious as he gazed at him.  
“You’re drunk.” He said, simply.

  
“So are you.” Gavin informs him, his expression twisting into a scowl.

  
Michael thought on this, the gears whirring in his pretty head. Then, after debating internally and reaching what seemed to be a satisfactory conclusion, he reached back to grab a fistful of Gavin’s hair and pulled him into another crushing kiss. Fuck it, he seemed to say, and Gavin concurred wholeheartedly.

  
They kissed like they had been left neglected and starved of touch for years, and when they were forced to part, Gavin found he wanted more. He wanted nothing but this man’s lips and teeth and tongue for the rest of his life.

  
To their credit, they both elected to stay and finish their drinks, and then they planned to walk out of the bar go their separate ways. Things were going to go on like normal- they’d talk, they’d go out drinking every so often. Things would go slow.

  
Unfortunately, Gavin had very little self control, and the sight of Michael’s flushed face was driving him mad, sending his imagination into overdrive.

  
“Right.” He huffed, cutting across some meaningless story Michael had begun to tell him about the first time he fought for Geoff. The man halted, the words dying on his lips. “We’re going.”

  
Michael blinked at him as he watched the man pull out his wallet and fish out some notes. He dropped them on the table, and strategically placed a glass over them to stop them from being overlooked. “I haven’t finished my drink.”

  
“I don’t care. Fuck your drink.” Gavin shoved his wallet back into his pocket, and leant over to grab Michael by one bicep. He tugged at him, and despite the fact Michael was clearly much stronger than him and could probably overpower him with ease despite his height, Michael followed, letting himself be pulled up. “We’re going.”

  
“What? Where?”

  
“To my place.” Gavin informed him, very matter-of-factly. His tone indicated that there would be no argument, but he snuck an almost shy look at Michael, gauging his reaction. He was pleased to see the way a tiny pink flush appeared high on his cheeks and an understanding smile split his cheeks- and most importantly, how Michael followed him willingly with no complaint.

  
Gavin tapped on the bar as they left, rapping his knuckles against the counter to catch the attention of one of the other girls. He gestured over to their corner where the payment lay, and she gave him a tight smile. “Thank you.” She called after them as they left, and he ignored the way it sounded like “Please don’t come back.”

  
The night was dark, and the air was a harsh, bitter chill. The icy tendrils of the night reached out for both men, and wrapped their long, sharp claws around them. Gavin pulled Michael close, feeling his body heat arch into his. Gavin let out a sharp breath, and a small cloud of fog temporarily disguised his vision. He wondered what that warmth might feel like underneath him- and he couldn’t resist ducking his head down and searching for the taste of alcohol on Michael’s lips once more.

  
Michael let him search quite happily, and he even reached up to wrap both his arms around his neck. His heat was reassuring and comforting, a kind of beacon in the darkness. Gavin smiled against his mouth and reached down to curl his fingers through the belt loops of his jeans. They were tied in a loose and yet a constrictive embrace, and neither wanted to pull away.

  
A jeer cut into the still night and broke the comfortable silence that built up between them.

  
Gavin pulled away, hating every second of it, but he looked up.

  
Six men- no, boys, Gavin corrected as he watched them- stared at them, identical expressions of repulsion on their youthful faces. They were hanging outside of the bar, either clutching a bottle of cheap beer or smoking a cigarette- or in the case of the tallest boy, both. Everyone else on the street gave them a wide berth, making sure not to look for too long. Some nudged each other, incomprehensibly muttering what seemed to be insults as Michael and Gavin both stared.

  
Gavin eventually tore his gaze away and tugged at the belt loops in his hands to regain Michael’s attention. The man had been scowling deeply at the group of boys, his brow furrowed, but when he looked back at Gavin his expression softened and was replaced with a small smile. “Come on,” He said. “Let’s get going.” Gavin dared to slip one of his hands in Michael’s- and in return, the boxer threaded their fingers together and squeezed his hand playfully.

  
They turned away together, ready to find Gavin’s car in the parking lot, when the tallest boy spat, “Fucking fags.”

  
Without a seconds hesitation, Michael abruptly pivoted back and rounded on the gang. “The fuck did you just say?” He growled even before Gavin could register what was happening, his eyes dark and lips curled. The rest of the group had guffawed at the boy’s words- but they were silenced under Michael’s stony gaze. Half of them looked at each other uneasily, but the other three, including taller boy just laughed. They took a confident step forward, as did Michael, who tore his hand from Gavin’s.

  
“I called you a fucking fag.” He repeated, his eyes bright. He spread in his arms in the frankly horrific ‘come at me’ pose. “Problem?”

  
“Michael.” Gavin hissed, grabbing for his forearm. He tried to haul him back, tried to keep him from getting them into any further trouble, but Michael ripped himself free once again. “Michael, no!”

  
That got another round of laughs- even less confident ones. “Aww, is the cocksucker a little bit scared?” One mocked, putting on a babyish voice. Altogether, they cooed, and Gavin couldn’t help but roll his eyes. But Michael saw red.

  
“Back the fuck off.” He snapped, storming forward, getting directly in the taller boy’s face. He stood an inch shorter than him, but still had the balls to size him up. Gavin was impressed by his guts, but stunned by his arrogance and suicidal tendencies. “I’m warning you, asshole.”

  
“What are you going to do, give me a kiss?” He kept on taunting, a sick little smirk on his face. While half of his gang shrank back nervously, spooked at Michael’s fearless aggression, he showed no fear. “What the hell are you gonna do to me?”

  
“Michael!” Gavin called over again. He made no move forward, knowing he would only get in the way. All the broken bones he’d ever hand and the scars that covered his body only proved the fact he was a useless fighter. His rational mind was telling him to stay put, but everything else was shrieking at him to help, to either drag Michael to safety or throw himself at whoever threatened them harm. He dithered, torn. “Let’s just go, yeah?”

  
“Fuck that.” Michael replied shortly, his teeth grit together. “If you think I’m walking away you’ve got another thing coming.”

  
The boys laughed like hyenas, the brave ones still coming at him. Gavin bit his lip in his apprehension, his teeth splitting the skin. He didn’t notice, or taste the blood that leaked into his mouth. “Michael, they’re getting lairy!” He whined, feeling useless as he stood to one side.

Michael turned his head and shot him a bewildered and aggravated look. “Gav, what the fuck does that even mean?”

The tall boy immediately rounded on him, his expression distasteful. “Are you British?” He asked, his brows furrowing. “Of course, fucking European piece of shit-”

  
Michael reared back, clenching his fist, and slammed it into the ringleader’s face.

  
Gavin could hear the sick sound of his hand connecting, and the grunt that the leader released. He saw the saliva knocked out his mouth, and heard the symphony of yelps that came from his gang. Even the two braver ones danced backwards, their movements skittish, like spooked horses. Their leader quickly righted himself, his hand clutching at his jaw. The shocked pain in his eyes was quickly replaced by blazing fury.

  
“Fucker!” He spat, and he surged forward- but Michael was ready, and he delivered a sharp uppercut to the boy’s chin. The boxer’s movements were quick, but they weren’t quite precise- Gavin recognised them as moves that had been learnt from years spent in dingy bars and filthy back alleys. He dimly wondered if Michael was telling him the whole truth about his past- but it was quickly pushed out of his mind. The boy went down again, stumbling this time. He almost lost his balance. Two of his group had already turned and fled, disappearing down the street. The other three were more faithful, but they weren’t stupid- they scrambled forward, and Gavin tensed, expecting an attack. However, they grabbed their leader who was rising on unsteady legs, clutching at his face. His cheek had been split. Blood gushed from his mouth. It looked like something from a horror film.

  
They were all yelling at once, yelling out the boy’s name and crying out curses, all gawking at Michael like he was insane. The boxer stood there, seething, blood on his knuckles. Gavin wavered, terrified of what might happen next- but the boys dragged their friend away, after the two that had already run, and they disappeared down the street. Their shouts faded, and eventually, the night was almost silent.

  
Michael watched them go, his gaze fixed on them and his mouth set in a firm line. “Fucking right.” He growled after them as they fled into the darkness.

  
Gavin lunged forward and grabbed at him, patting and pawing at him and checking him over. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” He burst, panicked.

  
Michael barked out a laugh, and Gavin shot him a confused look. “You know they didn’t, you saw that. They didn’t do a fucking thing to me.”

  
“Don’t do that, Michael!” He glowered, lifting a hand and thumping him, albeit lightly, on the head. “You’re not supposed to fight them, you’re supposed to ignore them.“ Michael pulled a face, his skin wrinkling.

  
“I still hate the way you say my name.” He complained, and Gavin’s irritated scowl only deepened.

  
“Don’t ignore me.” He whined in the way he knew the boxer hated. “I had to stand there! While you fought! I felt as useless as a chocolate teapot.”

  
The shorter man fixed him with a suspicious gaze, taking in what he had just said and growing more befuddled by the second. He ended up shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. “Brits.” He said, exasperated, and promptly pulled Gavin down into another kiss.

  
Gavin squirmed at first, not planning to let Michael worm himself free of an argument - but lust and longing eventually won over, replacing his concern. The kiss was warm, and sweet in the dark and bitter night. It was everything Gavin wanted.

  
Michael put a hand to the small of his back, and pulled away. “Home.” He said, his voice frank, and Gavin could only mutter the energy for a single nod of agreement.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

He didn’t remember any of the journey home. Usually, he would have been worried about this, but he didn’t care. He was sure nothing happened.

  
The journey up to his apartment was much more important- and pretty much one long illegible blur. All he really could remember was accidentally slamming his knee into a wall and sloppily making out with Michael in the elevator ride up. He recalled the feeling of Michael arching up against him when he firmly grabbed at and squeezed his arse, and he filed it away under ‘things I never want to forget’.

  
It all came into sharp focus when Michael landed heavily on Gavin’s bed, and Gavin crawled on top of him, already half hard and almost deliriously happy that Dan was out for the night.

  
Michael immediately propped himself up on his elbows and leaned up to steal a kiss. He laughed, a surprisingly sweet sound for such a turbulent man, and it was music to Gavin’s ears. He had to suppress the urge to kiss the little dimples that scarred either side of his smooth cheeks attractively. “This wasn’t how I expected to spend my night.”

  
“Same here.” Gavin confessed. ‘But I wouldn’t have it any other way.’, he considered adding, but he was distracted by Michael’s hands clinging to his shoulders and his lips being on his again, and then his tongue suddenly doing something amazing. He purred into his mouth.

  
They did nothing but kiss for several long minutes, until Gavin brought the play to a slow end. He pulled away- and grinning at Michael’s soft sound of disappointment, immediately latched his lips onto Michael’s neck, and he noted with satisfaction how the boxer purred softly and tilted his head, allowing him more access. He scraped his teeth along the pale flesh, and at one point the lay his tongue against his pulse, tasting how his heart rate accelerated. His hands dropped to Michael’s waist- and took the opportunity to slide his hands under his shirt in one swift movement. His long fingers trailed lines over the firm and flat skin, enjoying the feel of his body heat. His skin was soft and smooth in contrast to Gavin‘s, like heated silk, and he couldn’t help but groan. He remembered the first time he saw Michael flushed and dripping with sweat, standing in the boxing ring all those weeks ago and he could feel himself thickening, growing harder in his pants.

  
Michael squirmed under his hands, and Gavin could feel the muscle shifting under the skin. “Don’t fuck me around, Gavin.” He grumbled, and he heard it as much as he felt it, the sound rumbling through his chest. He felt Michael’s legs shift beneath him- they were lazily spread, and Gavin’s body fell fully, delightfully flush against his. “Quit toying with me.”

  
“Hey.” Gavin pouted, his tone accusing. He pulled away from Michael’s neck with a parting nip, but he couldn’t bring himself to remove his hands from his shirt. “It’s hardly my fault you have the perfect body.”

  
Michael flushed, with what seemed to be a curious mix of embarrassment and pleasure. He averted his gaze, staring out across Gavin’s bedroom and brought his lower lip between his teeth- and hissed when Gavin reached up and tweaked at a nipple. “Fuck.” He almost whimpered, and it grew hard under the tips of his lovers fingers. He teased the other until they matched, both hardened little nubs. “Gavin.”

  
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he drew his hands back down, and gripped at the edge of his shirt and tugged. Michael got the message, and he lifted himself up, and held his arms above his head. Gavin pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly across the room. He fell back down onto him and closed his mouth around his nipple, flicking at it with his tongue. He grasped at Michael’s sides lightly, and when he felt him tremble he tapped a faint beat into the side, caressing his bare skin in a relaxing manner. The shivers subsided, but the soft moans didn’t. He gave the same treatment to the other nipple, causing Michael to squirm in the sheets.  
Gavin kissed a sloppy path downwards once he had done, not caring, only loving the soft noises of encouragement Michael made. He bit down on the skin sometimes, gently, but hard enough to leave a little mark. It was like leaving footprints in the sand- a reminder of all the places he had been. He only wished the marks were permanent- if this never happened again, he wanted to remember it. And he wanted Michael to remember too. Too quickly, he reached the end of Michael’s stomach, and he was forced to withdraw.  
Michael was glaring down at him, and he had been gnawing and chewing on his lower lip. His eyes were bright, and dark with lust, and his face still retained that pretty flush. Delighted, Gavin smirked up at him, and began fussing with Michael’s belt, tugging it loose. There was a prominent bulge in his pants, and Gavin made sure he took his time popping the button and dragging down the zip.

  
He flashed the boxer a meaningful look, and although he grumbled about it he willingly arched his hips, and let Gavin pull off his jeans. “Why am I the only one without clothes?” He demanded to know, reaching up and tugging at the collar of Gavin’s shirt.  
“Because you’re pretty.” He told him, grinning, and his jeans joined his shirt, crumpled in some mysterious part of his bedroom.  
“You’re prettier.” Michael grumbled in return, and reached down, threading his fingers through Gavin’s hair and tugging firmly. “Get up here and get your clothes off. Then fuck me.”

  
Gavin pouted, and sat up between his lover’s legs, guided by Michael’s grip. “You don’t want to take our time?” He palmed Michael’s cock eagerly, already feeling the dampness of pre come seeping into the fabric of his underwear. “Treasure it and our blossoming romance?”

  
Michael rolled his eyes, his expression exasperated, but he also flushed pink with embarrassment, and it was frankly adorable. Then he ground his hips up, into Gavin’s cupped hand, and his breath stuttered a little. “We can take our time tomorrow. Now, I just want to be fucked.”

  
Gavin growled playfully, squeezing one last time before withdrawing his hand. “Fair enough,” He shrugged, and pulled away to Michael’s disappointed. But he more than made up for it when he returned, lacking all of his clothes, baring his skin to the bedroom’s now stifling air. He dared to duck down and he pulled Michael’s underwear down to his thighs with his teeth, before pulling it off with a flourish, rendering the two of them completely naked.

  
Michael wasn’t quite sure how it got there, but Gavin had lube in one hand, and before he knew it he blinked and Gavin’s long finger were exploring his rim, toying with it, spreading still cold lube around him. He shivered, leaning his head back into the delightfully fluffy pillows.

  
“Don’t tease me.” He chided, and only just stopped himself from tacking on a ‘please’. He parted his legs, splaying them across the bed, and pushed his hips up again, impatiently.

  
“You’re no fun.” Gavin pouted, and Michael was going to snap at him and claim how ridiculous it made him look before Gavin pressed the first finger inside, and then Michael was keening softly, deliriously happy at the familiar sensation of something finally inside him. He breathed out a curse as Gavin eased it inside, gradually taking it all the way. He waited a few moments before he thrust it in a few times, so gently, and Michael felt he was about to cry with either relief or frustration, quite possibly both.

  
With a few encouragements and perhaps some threats of physical violence, Gavin added a second finger, thrusting inside a little faster, going a little deeper, scissoring his fingers carefully, and by the time a third finger was added Michael was bucking his hips, openly cursing him. “I’m ready, Gavin, stick a fucking fork in me, I’m done.” He felt Gavin’s fingers rub against his walls, and he almost sobbed at the pleasure. “Gavin, for god’s sake, get in me.”

  
Gavin hummed a noise in agreement, but the noise sounded strained, and Michael wondered if the man was just as affected as he was. He didn’t have time to ask, or even look at his lover before the fingers were being drawn out, and Michael hissed at the feeling of being so suddenly empty.

  
“Hands and knees, then.” Gavin commanded, and Michael immediately obeyed without question. He settled himself in the middle of the bed, his legs parted and his perfect round arse in the air. Gavin saw how tense he was- how the muscles stood out in his thighs. He trailed a hand up one, soothingly, and he kissed up Michael’s back softly. He positioned himself over Michael’s back, the head of his cock brushing up against his entrance, and he nuzzled the back of his neck, aiming to comfort him. He wasn’t sure if it worked.  
“Ready?” He asked, his voice soft but almost deafeningly loud in the silence.

  
“Yeah.” Michael responded without missing a beat. Gavin hummed softly, and wrappeda hand around him abdomen. He braced the other against the bed carefully- and pushed his hips forward, entering him slowly.

 

A curse immediately broke it’s way free of Michael’s lips and Gavin groaned, dropping his head onto Michael’s back at the sensations. He was tight and warm, and everything was perfect. Gavin struggled against the urge to keep going, to fuck Michael until he screamed just like he wanted him to. His hand clawed into the sheets with the effort. Michael’s once pale skin was now flushed, and slick with sweat, and the room seemed much hotter than it was only minutes ago. “Fuck.” The man hissed, his hips frozen still.

 

Gavin peppered kisses and tiny bites on the back of his neck to distract him, and he could taste the faint tang of sweat. “You alright?”  
Michael’s response was a strangled groan, and concerned, Gavin began to pull out- but Michael reached back and grabbed him by a thigh, and forced him forward again. “Don’t you fucking dare.” He growled, and Gavin didn’t dare.

  
“Okay.” Michael eventually breathed, and Gavin could hear the tension in his voice, and he could taste it in his muscles as his lips stayed glued to his back. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  
With a soft growl, Gavin pulled his hips back slowly, carefully, only to press back inside swiftly. Michael was slick and hot, ridiculously so, and movement was difficult but the friction was frankly delicious. The sensations were smooth and gorgeous and it was probably the best fuck Gavin had ever had and it hadn’t even begun. Gavin dropped one of his hands to rest over Michael’s, and their fingers laced and locked together. They both moaned, their voices light and breathy, as if they feared their noises might scare the other off. Their skin slipped and stuck, flush together.

  
Gavin gradually sped his pace as time passed, inwardly wincing at the squeaks his old, fairly rickety bed made. Michael paid it no heed. He was trembling, tiny gasps escaping his lips with each thrust. Gavin wanted nothing more than to flip him over on his back and kiss those plump lips, bite down on them and make him squeal, fuck him and make him beg. Instead, he just thrust harder, deeper, and sunk his teeth into the pliant flesh of Michael’s neck. The man beneath him gasped, and then groaned, long and loud. He bucked his hips back and up, a silent plea for more.

  
Gavin scraped his teeth along Michael’s pulse point, feeling his heart frantically dance against him. He soothed his bite with his tongue, feeling his lover squirm beneath him. Their minds had long since blanked with pleasure, and their worlds had become nothing but each other.

  
Then Gavin chanced upon something inside, and Michael jerked, a harsh cry of his lover’s name slipping through his lips. Hot streaks of pleasure pulsed and tore at him, and sensation danced from his toes to his fingertips. His muscled felt immobilized, and warmth built and intensified in his belly. He rocked himself back on Gavin’s cock, desperately seeking that thrill again. “Fuck, Gavin!”

  
His walls had clamped down in reaction, down tight on the intrusion, and Gavin lost his momentum for a few seconds. He had to regain himself before he caught up, searching for that same spot again.

  
He found it, eventually, and kept bucking his hips, delighting in the way that Michael almost convulsed each time, making muffled wails of pleasure into his pillow. He could hear curses breaking free, mixing with praises of ‘damn your fucking talented cock’ and other, ruder things that made Gavin flush with both embarrassment and pride.

  
But it couldn’t go on forever, and Gavin felt the telltale tensing in his thighs and the tingling growing in his lower abdomen. Michael too had cried a warning seconds before, an insistent twisted groan that he was going to come, and soon. He had pulled his hand out from under Gavin’s, the other one busy clawing at the pillow, and wrapped it around his own cock, eagerly twisting his wrist and jerking, pulling himself to his own completion.

  
Michael came less than thirty seconds later, his hips stuttering as he cried out. Warmth seeped across his palm, and neither man cared about the state of the bed sheets. Gavin came only a few heartbeats afterwards, losing his calculated rhythm and muffling his shout into the back of Michael’s neck. He kept thrusting, pushing both of them through their orgasms until exhaustion crept over and claimed him, and he nearly collapsed over Michael.

  
Instead, he patted at Michael’s side until he got the message, and the boxer rolled over onto his back. Barely managing to keep hovering above him, he pressed one last kiss to Michael’s chapped lips before rolling over to his own side. They lay there together for a long while, catching their breaths, appreciating the post-sex afterglow and aches in their bodies. Here, Gavin could look to his side and appreciate the deep red flush that had grown on Michael’s cheeks and chest, and the way he had bitten his lower lip until it bled.  
Gavin kissed the blood away, sweeping his sweaty locks out of his eyes, and Michael sighed into his mouth.

  
“I’m glad I did that.” Michael suddenly said, ten minutes later when they were both on the edge of reality and dreams, and Gavin immediately knew he was talking about the first kiss. “I’d been wanting to. For a while.”

  
Gavin hummed, a small little sound of satisfaction. He shifted in the sheets, turning to face the other man. “Me too.”

  
Michael smiled, and leant up to kiss him once more.

 

x-x-x-x-x

Gavin stared down into his bowl of cereal morosely, and wondered if it was at all possible to drown himself in the milk. He had gotten to the point where he was seriously considering trying it, just shoving his head in it and waiting until it filled his lungs, but he knew that would have just caused a scene, and Michael would have undoubtedly followed him into the afterlife and made him pay.  
But if Dan awkwardly cleared his throat one more time, Michael be damned, he was doing it.

  
It was the most awkward breakfast Gavin had ever witnessed, let alone been part of. The silence was stifling, like a cloud of ash after a volcanic eruption, and every noise seemed to be amplified. The breakfasts in their apartment were generally rowdy, with cutlery clacking together, bowls being slammed about, arguments being had about who used up the last of the tea bags, but this one was stony silent, and no one made a peep.

  
Michael sat to his right, looking sinful and sated in only his boxers and one of Gavin’s old shirts, with his ruffled hair and swollen, bitten lips. He could see the bites he left all up his neck, and he imagined the ones he had left on his chest and his stomach, hidden underneath the fabric. Gavin would have liked nothing more than to fuck him against the kitchen counter, or whichever surface was closest, but now definitely wasn’t the time.

  
Dan sat directly opposite them, his head held just as low as Gavin’s, toying with the remnants of the bacon he had on his plate. There was a flush on his cheeks, and Gavin could tell that his friend really, really didn’t want to be there. Well, that was fine. Neither did he and Michael.

  
“So you brought a girl over last night, then?” Gavin forced his voice to be chipper, and it was so obviously fake it physically hurt him to try. He saw Michael physically flinch at the sound of his voice, and Dan lifted his head slowly, as if he was being forced to.

  
“I, uh,” He began, awkwardly, stumbling over his words. “Yeah, someone I met at the bar. But I, uh… she went home.”

  
Translation, Gavin thought, reaching for his spoon and pushing the long since damped cereal around his bowl, Michael and I were fucking too loud so she got weirded out and left. “That’s a shame.” He said, instead. The silence came back too quickly for his liking, but there was nothing he could so. Michael toyed with the crusts of his toast, completely and always wordless. Thanks for the support, love.

  
It finally ended when Michael stood, pushing back his chair, and giving Gavin a tight smile. “I better go.” He said, and he abruptly disappeared back into Gavin’s bedroom, and he might have had his arse stared at by Gavin, and maybe by Dan too. But as soon as Michael’s slightly swaying hips disappeared around his door, Gavin turned to his roommate with his classic big green puppy eyes.  
“I,” He began, but he took a moment to correct himself, no doubt editing the sentence he planned. “Can you not tell anyone?”

  
Dan arched a dark brow, and pushed his unfinished plate of food aside. “What, that you’re fucking Geoff’s favourite boxer?” He snorted. “Like anyone would believe me.”

  
“Geoff would.” Gavin shot back, and Dan considered this. Then he hummed in agreement, and

Gavin continued. “Seriously, B, don’t tell anyone. Please?”

  
“So, it’s serious then?” Dan asked, frowning a little. At first, he assumed it was just a fuck, a quick stress reliever, but he seemed to be wrong. “You want a relationship with him?”

  
Gavin hushed him, turning back and eying the bedroom door with panicked, wild eyes. Michael was still inside, and they could hear him rustling around, likely getting dressed and gathering his personal belongings. When he was confident he hadn’t overheard, he turned back. “I’d like it to be.” He admitted. “It depends on what he wants.”

  
And with that, Michael was back, appropriately dressed in the clothes he wore the night before and wearing a smug, satisfied smile on his lips. He walked back up to Gavin, grinning a lot less worriedly. “Thanks for having me.” He said, and he offered Dan a nod before he walked back down the hallway, heading for the door. Gavin followed close at his heels, sending Dan a hopeful look before disappearing again.

  
They lingered at the door for a while, Gavin completely unsure of what to say. He wasn’t confident on a lot of things- Michael’s feelings on him now, the boundaries between them, if he was allowed to touch. But Michael solved all of his problems by reaching up on his tiptoes and kissing his cheek softly, and Gavin solved all of the problems he didn’t know Michael had by turning his head, bringing their lips together and kissing him properly. Michael deepened the kiss in answer, and they could taste the breakfasts they both had on their lips and Gavin wrapped his arms around Michael’s waist, and maybe copped a quick feel while he was there.  
Eventually Michael pulled away, and he was chuckling quietly, clearly pleased at the turn on events. “Call me?” He asked, and Gavin nodded eagerly, lost for words.

  
Michael left, parting with that smile.

  
Gavin walked back up the hallway backwards, staring at the apartment door, his pace slow and unhurried. He shoved his hands in his jeans, not quite sure what to do know he savoured a little piece of heaven and had to be returned to reality afterwards. He meandered back into the kitchen, making small bored and dejected noises. Dan hadn’t moved from his seat.

  
“It’s serious?” Dan checked, his voice a little small with apprehension. He judged by the way that he was behaving that he had been turned down for a parting kiss- but Gavin shook his head and grinned, the smile practically splitting his face.

  
“It’s serious.” Gavin confirmed, sliding back into his seat, and Dan cheered, and they high fived over breakfast, the previous awkwardness forgotten.

  
None of them, not Gavin or Dan or Michael were aware that Michael was tailed all the way home.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

It was serious, and Gavin thought life was perfect.

  
At first, it was a few of those normal drinks they had, but they were a lot more ‘date-y’ than Gavin recalled, and several kisses were stolen over the tabletops. It often ended with them going home together, usually at Michael’s as he had no roommate, but sometimes at Gavin’s. They always forewarned Dan first, not wanting a repeat of what they all now knew as The Incident. Eventually, it involved into multiple night sleepovers, and Dan become much more comfortable with Michael’s presence, and the two quickly bonded, becoming good friends.

  
Then, about a month or so later, came the ‘I love you’s’.

  
Gavin was panicking internally, not being sure when was too soon, or if Michael was fussing about him not saying it already. He wanted to pick the perfect time- not too early to send Michael running for the hills, but not too late so Michael would be confident of the fact Gavin loved him. But he simply didn’t know when, and had no idea when was right.

  
But Michael solved all his problems yet again, but turning around one night in bed after watching movies with Dan. They had gotten to the stage where they didn’t need to have sex every time they got in a bed together, and they were just embracing, slowly tapering off to sleep. Gavin felt Michael shift in his arms, turning around to face him, and Gavin opened his eyes to find Michael staring at him with determined eyes.

  
Before Gavin could frown and ask what was wrong, Michael opened his mouth and said “Gavin, I love you.”

  
After a worrying second of being shocked, of making ridiculous noises that could barely pass for English, Gavin managed a crooked, excitable smile and leaned forward to kiss his lover. Their noses knocked together and their teeth clashed somewhat painfully, but for something so flawed, it was flawless. “I love you too.” He confided in him, and in that moment Gavin solved all of Michael’s problems.

  
Dan thought they were cute together, sickeningly so at times, but he appreciated the effect they had on each other and the fact the balanced either other out, making them, he thought, better people. They were normal, all in all, couples who kissed and fought and said ‘I love you’ and ‘I hate you’ in equal measure. Dan neither saw them as a grand declaration, public display of affection loving couple, either, and he liked that.

  
So when Gavin came out from his bedroom one day with a creeper pendant around his neck, closely followed by a thankfully fully clothed Michael who wore a diamond pendant around his own, Dan definitely stared, but he said nothing.

  
He supposed it was quiet, and secret, holding a special meaning for them and anyone else who looked hard enough- and that was very ‘them’ he decided, and he was happy for the two.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Gavin knew that nothing ever lasted. Everything eventually ended, no matter how hard people tried to prevent or ignore the fact. People died. Relationships soured. Things naturally came to their end, and Gavin could respect that, even if he didn’t like or agree with it.

  
He didn’t like thinking about three things ending in particular; his life, his happiness, and his relationship with Michael.

  
He wasn’t too big on the idea of Breaking Bad ending on only it's fifth season, either, but he thought three was the magic number and he had managed to narrow it down.

  
And then something came along that successfully threatened all of them.

  
There had been whispers that he had heard, of a new gang. Being so intermixed with so many people playing different roles in Ramsey’s group, he heard many different things. Some were true, some were false, some were kind of true but mostly exaggerated or incorrect. He didn’t listen to whispers- he only dealt in facts- but he wished he had listened to these. It would have prepared him better, for everything.

  
He heard murmurings of a name, one he never remembered hearing until long after his problems were over. Cobb, he heard, Driscoll. He recognised neither, and cared for neither. He heard that someone was causing waves, drying up trade with certain groups, and crime had boomed in some area of the city he was never in, so he dismissed it. As long as the three things he treasured most never changed, he never cared.

  
But then he was told to partake in the drug sale, the one that changed everything, and Gavin was lost.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

He did the job with Jack Pattillo, one of Geoff’s right hand men, and Ray Narvaez Jr, someone who had become a close friend to him over the time Gavin worked for Geoff. The sale point was chosen as room 236 in the Ashfield Motel, a scummy little place where the police never turned their gaze, at three in the afternoon. And they all expected it to be a breeze.

  
Ray remained down stairs, in the parking lot, keeping an eye out for any nasty surprises. That was simply standard procedure, and no one thought anything of it. Gavin was leading the group, being the most charismatic and friendly one there, and he was supposed to talk to the group they were meeting and pitch the sale, while Jack played the role of the silent brawn.

  
It was normal, all the way to the room. But when they got inside, everything changed.

  
There were three people in the hotel room, all waiting in pure silence. The quiet was almost sullen. One sat at the desk on the right of the room, his legs crossed and his posture confident. Gavin wondered how the seat didn’t buckle and snap under his weight- he was huge, his body thick with what seemed to be pure muscle. Another sat perched on the edge of the double bed on the left, almost slumped over himself, and Gavin could almost taste his apprehension. He was ridiculously on edge, and he sat in stark contrast to his companion at the desk- he was as tall and skinny as a twig, but he was lean. Their leader stood in-between them, and she had her arms crossed tightly over her chest and a scowl on her face. How welcoming, Gavin thought.

  
The silence went unbroken as Gavin moved to stand face to face to the woman, keeping a safe distance of a few feet between them. For such a run down hotel, the rooms were surprisingly vast. But that was the only positive thing he could say- there was mould running and the walls, the wallpaper was peeling off and the bed sheet was covered in suspicious looking stains. He swiveled his head to check on Jack, and he watched him settle near the door, surveying the three strangers with carefully blank eyes. His entire body was tensed, ready for anything to go wrong at any second.

  
He turned back, and found every single one of them staring directly at him. All three eyes shone- the leader’s gleamed with mirth, the blonde’s with fear, and the big guy’s with intelligence. The prickling sensation of unease and discomfort gnawed at him, but he gave them all even looks. He said nothing. He did nothing. Everyone waited for the first move to be made.

  
Someone cleared the throat, and it was a low, almost squeaky sound. It was from the man at the desk, who shifted until he straddled the chair, resting his arms against the back. Gavin noticed for the first time that a chunk of his cheek was missing, the flesh torn out. He tried not to recoil at the sight. “You Free?” He asked, his voice jumping and breaking. It was disconcerting.

  
“Yeah.” He replied, his voice terse. He wasn’t there to make friends with the group. He was there for the deal, and he wanted it done and over with as soon as possible. Judging by the way the woman stood, tense and scowling, she wanted the exact same. “You got the money?”

  
He was distracted by the blonde who sat on the bed- he recoiled as if he had been stabbed, and made a twisted kind of yelp. His two companions shot him fierce looks, and the woman’s lips curled away from her teeth. The man shrank underneath them. Jack made no sound, a solid and silent presence, but Gavin could imagine the smirk on his face. Now we see who leads the pack, Gavin could imagine him saying when they would leave.

  
The man ducked down, reaching underneath the bed, and hoisted up a large brown leather briefcase. The leather was old, and most of it was peeling off as if someone had been agitatedly picking at it with a nail. He held it aloft like it was a cross, his face pale. Gavin could see the way it quivered in the air, the man’s unsteady hands wracked with tremors. He silently wondered if it was fear or addiction to some drug. Either way, Gavin nodded. “Good.” He reached underneath his jacket- slowly, so they wouldn’t think it was a gun- and pulled out the product. He held it up high, just like the blonde was with the briefcase, letting everyone in the room see it. He ignored the feeling of Jack’s gaze burning into the back of his head.

  
“This is what you wanted.” He spoke carefully- he had to be loud enough to let everyone hear him, but he couldn’t let himself be heard by any of the neighbours around them or people outside. Having the police called would undeniably put a damper on their first meeting. “A pound of meth.”

  
As a display of trust, he moved first. He brought it down- he made note of how the blonde man’s eyes were fixated on it- and held it out to their leader, keeping his body as loose as possible. He was hyper aware to the woman’s every movement. She was still scowling at him. Her eyes were dark blue, cerulean, and goose feet crinkled around the edges. Her mouth seemed to have a permanent sour twist to it, as if she were forced to suck on a lemon. She didn’t take it immediately, instead sharing a quick glance between her two companions. Once satisfied, she took it- almost snatching the pack from his hands. Gavin bit back a retort, and made a short, sharp gesture to silence Jack’s rumbling snarl as the woman eyed the product carefully.

  
She peered at each, picking out a small shard of methamphetamine at a time. She wouldn’t find a fault. Barbara turned drug production into an art form. She would accept nothing less than flawless. Gavin watched for a full minute as the woman judged the work- and then she stepped back, saying nothing, but nodding in silent satisfaction. Gavin turned to the blonde, who now clutched the briefcase to his chest possessively. For a moment, he thought they might have had a problem- he hardly looked willing to give it up- but he moved sluggishly, getting up from the bed. He watched the bag of meth as he went by, only turning his head when it left his sight.

  
He looked uncomfortable in Gavin’s presence, and his incredibly wide, bloodshot eyes were glued to Gavin’s shoes. He was shaking so hard he was surprised his knees weren’t knocking together. He thrust the briefcase out at him wordlessly. Gavin took it slowly, not wanting to make him jump. He slyly tested the weight of it in his hand, disguising his movement as adjusting his grip on the handle. The weight felt right, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.

  
“I don’t mean to cause offence.” He said to clear the air, but he reached down to unlatch the briefcase. “But it is our first time doing business with you, after all.” They all said nothing still, and their expressions didn’t flicker. Gavin didn’t like the silence, the cold professionalism the woman and the huge guy acted with. They reminded him of Geoff. Gavin shook this away- just check the money and go, he thought- and unclipped the final latch. It swung open, revealing it’s contents.

  
The case was full of plain white paper.

  
A miasma of emotions rose up from his stomach to his throat at that very second; fear, not knowing what the hell they were thinking, and rage, for their sheer insolence. He tensed his jaw, gritting his teeth together as his mind raced. He turned, swinging the case around and letting go. It flew across the room, crashing at the blonde bastard’s feet, and the paper fluttered free with a whisper. He served the leader a steely glare.

  
“What the fuck is this?” He demanded to know, praying all the while that Jack was still there to back him up- and that was when there was a quick movement, and the brick of a man to his right suddenly had a shotgun in his hands, seemingly from nowhere.

Gavin didn’t have time to cry out. He would have done, either instinctively in panic for his own safety or in warning for Jack- but he was not fast enough. He didn’t have time to see the shotgun blast, but he definitely heard it. It was an impossibly loud bark of sound, and despite the many times he had heard a gunshot, he knows that he was never going to get used to it.

  
He was hit almost directly in the chest, just a little to the right and an inch below his sternum. He was pushed back with the sheer force, and something inside him gave with a sickening crack- it was something that felt dreadfully vital, and he felt nausea roll inside him like a wave. His entire body screamed in pain, pulses of sharp agony in his chest. He staggered back, his feet unsteady, and he slipped, suspended in gravity. In the ugly stretch of a second, Gavin was down, sprawled on the floor. His back connected with it, the old thin carpet utterly useless. The force of his fall jolted down his spine, along his chest, along his ribs. The back of his head slammed against the floor. He grunted out some incomprehensible slur of a word- possibly ’Jack’- and hissed in pain.

  
Get up! His mind screamed at him, clawing at the prison of his skull. You’re going to get yourself killed, get up, get out! His legs tried to move, struggling and squirming, but they felt like they had been detached from the rest of his body. He had no control whatsoever, and his feet slipped on the floor while his hands reach up to loosely grasp at his chest. He choked on a breath, rolling around on his back, trying to move to lie on his side- but the effort was too much and the pain overwhelmed him.

  
All that mattered to him right at that second was the pain, and the noise. Or rather, the real lack of noise. He could hear no more gunshots, or screaming, or shouting. His ears were ringing, the white noise erupting in his ears. He couldn’t hear anything else, and even though he knew it would pass, it scared him.

  
“Jack.” He tried to call out, but his throat failed halfway through the word, and it became a mess. He felt foolish and useless down on the floor, barely able to move, unable to talk. He recalled that he was unarmed, completely screwed, and he cursed his stupid decision. Everything was going wrong, and there was fuck all he could do about it.

  
Then someone appeared over him, flickering in front of his eyes, and Gavin struggled to see past the thick haze growing in his vision. He focused with some difficulty, and then he could see. The man, the one with mop of dirty hair clambered over him and straddled his hips, lean thighs keeping him down. He needn’t have bothered- Gavin certainly wasn’t getting up. He reached forward, roughly grabbing a fistful of Gavin’s own hair, forcing his head upwards. While his chest screamed still, his scalp ached, and a few locks were ripped from the roots. The man above him spoke, his mouth opening and closing bizarrely, showing off dirty yellow teeth. Crack or marijuana, Gavin thinks in retrospect, he was definitely using something in a pipe or just not brushing his teeth at all. He yowled something, but Gavin’s ears still ring and his temples now pulsate. He stared at his attacker, dumbly and helplessly, his pale green eyes wide and his mouth lax.

  
The blond shook him, his movements tinged with desperation when he realized Gavin didn’t understand. He tried speaking again, rage flashing in his eyes. Flecks of spit covered Gavin’s face, but he couldn’t shrink away. The hand fisted in his shirt pull him about, like and limp and useless rag doll, and god, it hurt like nothing Gavin had ever experienced before. The world had shrunk down until it was nothing but Gavin, the attacker, and the agony assaulting his body.

  
The shaking eventually stopped, and Gavin had never been more relieved in his life. But it didn’t last. The stranger was furious now, his face red and a dark vein standing out on his forehead. He spat something vicious and venomous, something he still couldn’t hear. Then, the man reached back into his jean pocket, and he grabbed for something blindly. Then the hand was straight back in Gavin’s face, shoved uncomfortably close, and the man seemed to flip his wrist in some skillful, experienced movement, and Gavin’s eyes couldn’t follow it if he tried. But he recognised a flash of silver steel. A pocket knife.

  
The man brandished it, his mouth seemingly moving a mile a minute, but no sound emerges. The blade was shimmering, swiping through the air, slicing it. Gavin could see blurs of movement around them, and it looked like shadows waltzing, or speedily scurrying around the room like agitated bees.

  
Something in his head bloomed to life, brightening with intelligence, and he recalled that he wasn’t alone. He dimly wondered, where was Jack? Did Ray hear the shot? He squirmed a little, but the hard angular lines of the blonde man’s knees keep him trapped down.  
Then he was made aware of movement behind him, near the door, but it didn’t hold his attention for very long. The man pinning him down reached to him, blade in hand, seemingly aiming for his face. Not my eyes, Gavin momentarily panicked. Not my mouth, not anything.

  
The blade’s bite was a deep red, and uncomfortably cold, frozen against the warmth of his cheek. He tried to move away, escape the cool pain, but the grip the man still had on his hair made it impossible. It marred his soft skin at first, as if the man was experimenting with neat but shallow slashes, scratches, scrapes. But soon, this didn’t seem to satisfy him anymore- and he moved down, down past Gavin’s disturbingly bare throat, lightly teasing the blade’s tip against his adam’s apple. He swallowed, and it bounced. He continued on, down to his collarbone- and his knife began to gouge, the digging of metal down into his body. Gavin hissed, incapable of most sounds, all the pain washing up inside him. He feebly tried to kick out, like a wounded foal caught in a trap, urgently attempting to escape the clutches of a hunter. He was punished with the knife digging deeper, sharper, this time around his sternum, and then dragging down and curving around his nipple. He hadn’t registered the ripping of his shirt. It was his favourite.  
He chokes again, almost begging, and the knife drew away red and wet.

  
The blonde stared down at him, his twisted little smirk sick and disturbing, bordering on psychopathic. Gavin was filled to the brim with horror and terror, and he wanted nothing more than to squeeze his eyes shut, only to reopen them and find it was all one horrific, dreadfully realistic dream. He would go through his day, business as usual, and he would never have to come to this shitty hotel.

  
He even tried it. Rather unsurprisingly, it didn’t work.

  
However, Gavin did reopen his eyes in time to see a familiar and heavy black boot kick the blonde man directly in the side of the face. The man was thrown to the side, disappearing from Gavin’s sight. He had no energy to muster a smile of victory, but his heart was feather light with joy and relief.

  
Then, there was a sudden stabbing pressure against his left thigh, hard and cold. He jolted, and his leg twitched in an automatic reaction- and Gavin became painfully aware of the fact he had just been stabbed. He panicked, beginning to hyperventilate, trying to sit up- but someone shoved him straight back down, forcefully, and he hit his head again. His wounds were still demanding attention, pulsing agony, and he felt like he was going to explode and be ripped apart by all those terrible sensations.

  
The pain rapidly became far too much for him to handle, and darkness bloomed in his eyes. His eyelids grew heavy, and his eyes grew weaker and limp. He kept on squirming helplessly, like a worm. It became harder and harder to fight, the darkness more and more alluring, until it became impossible to ignore. He kept on fighting, determined and brave- but eventually, he submitted.  
Gavin Free’s last thought before he was overwhelmed and dragged under was blazing flame, untameable hair the colour of dried blood and a sweet smile on an almost angelic face.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Come on, Michael, he thought. He could barely hear himself over the almost deafening screams of the crowd, but he thought nonetheless. He was used to it now. Just get through his. Beat the guy. Force yourself to talk to Geoff for a while. Go home, call Gavin, eat pizza with him then fuck him. That’s your reward. Just get yourself through this.

  
He knew, after all, that seeing that stupid little lopsided grin would make it all worth it.

  
His opponent wasn’t a big guy. They usually were- after word had spread and they had all heard about this allegedly undefeatable kid that ‘belonged’ to Geoff, they sent the biggest and meanest guys that had to fight him, most of them scarred, stupid and most likely disease ridden. He supposed that sounded a little mean and judgmental, but it was true. All of them were meatheads, pure and simple, great whites kept on a short leash by their masters. All of them fell at his feet.

  
But he was getting off topic. This guy wasn’t like most. He was an inch shorter than Michael, for starters, and while he didn’t look like the smallest wind would send him sprawling he wasn’t exactly Bane. He was all lean muscle and springy, energetic youth, and his eyes shone with excitement and intelligence.

  
Michael felt sorry for him. Not only was he going to pound this kid’s ass, he was probably a complete newbie, and steadily embedding himself into a life of crime, sinking deeper into the abyss with each day that passed. He wondered how he got started. Drugs? Michael eyed him, and he saw no marks at his wrist, and his teeth were too painfully white for pipe usage. Medical bills? He seemed in perfect health, judging by his good weight and playful, puppy like demeanor. Whatever it was, it was invisible, a heavy weight on his shoulders or a wraith lingering behind him, immovable, permanent.

  
Michael wondered if he did it for family, and if he regretted this choice.

  
Everything was a familiar blur by the time they had to step forward, and Michael’s ears were ringing with the noise. It was like coming home. He couldn’t hear the announcer, but it didn’t matter. It was irrelevant. All he needed was the victory, and nothing else. He didn’t need the crowd’s love, or daddy Geoff’s respect. He needed that kid beat.

  
They raised their fists and tapped their gloves, harder than Michael anticipated. The kid had strength. The seasoned boxer frowned deeply at that thought, and the kid smirked, as if reading his mind. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything. Michael shook his head, forcing the thoughts away, and just in time- the bell rang, and the fight began.

  
The boy immediately lunged forward and attempted a flurry of blows, sharp jabs that Michael barely managed to protect himself from, having little time to draw his fists to his face in a block. He was fast. Quick on his feet, like a rabbit. The audience yowled on in Michael’s ears.

  
Michael danced backwards, his steps light, surveying the kid over his gloves. He watched as he immediately kept on forward, nimble and quick. He was on his ass, and he clearly didn’t intend to let him escape.

  
Testing him, Michael attempted a single jab when they grew closer. It was easily knocked away. The kid was beaming, already confident of his own victory. A good opponent, Michael smiled. He had nothing but respect for this bold boy now. But is he good enough?

  
As it turned out, he wasn’t. The kid was an overconfident fool. Within seconds, he jumped forward and planted a punch into Michael’s ribs- but it wasn’t enough. His experience in the ring kept himself from reeling, and he took the opportunity to lash out, his fist smashing into the kid’s face. His head snapped back, and the crowd roared and crashed like a wave of water on the beach. The kid was staggered, taking several steps back. His eyes were wide, like a rabbit caught in headlights, and his hands went to his face as if to protect himself far too late.

  
But he recovers quickly, quicker than Michael expected, and the kid’s coming at him and swinging- and he receives a hard blow to the jaw that forces his head to one side. A splinter of pain bursts in his cheek, and he grunts. He tries to right himself as fast as he can, and he barely avoids a hit in the ribs. He springs to one side, his steps light, throwing punches- and then the kid is down, and the crowd is screaming, and the round is over.

  
He retreated to his corner, his bruised jaw already feeling stiff and swollen. He tucked his arms back behind the ropes, letting it take the weight of his legs for a few moments. His coach was there now, shouting welcome encouragement but ultimately useless advice into his ear. Michael couldn’t hear shit over the jeering and laughing mass of the audience. Fuckin’ bloodhounds, he thought dismissively, but he let them stew in their own filth and depravity. The more bets that were made, after all, the more money he got.  
He was in a decent mood. Sure, the blow hurt, and he hadn’t won yet- but he was well on his way to doing so, and the thought of Gavin and pizza was alluring. He wasn’t sure what sounded more delectable right at that moment. All in all, while he wasn’t happy, he was content.

  
Then, he made the mistake of searching the masses for Geoff.

  
It didn’t take long. Michael scanned through the meaningless faces quickly. He found Geoff behind the opposite corner, right up against the ropes as usual, watching the two boxers recover with almost eager eyes. He half expected to see Gavin there with his tousled hair and wild eyes, at Geoff’s side like a loyal hound, but no such like. The usual suspects were gathered around him in a loose circle- Ryan a few steps behind and Burnie a few steps back to the left- but Jack was absent, and there was an unfamiliar face, a blonde man Michael had never seen before approaching the leader. He was clutching what appeared to be a smartphone in his hand, and he appeared apprehensive. Michael watched him approach. Geoff didn’t spare him a second glance- but the newcomer pressed himself up, right against Geoff’s side, and whispered something directly into his ear.

  
Everything was wrong after that.

  
Michael watched with mild horror as Geoff’s faced changed several times within a matter of seconds. The cool, confident, barely there smile was warped into something deeper, darker. Alarm flickered through his usually careful eyes before he could control himself, and Michael acutely felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. A rattled Geoff was like a volcano erupting- rare, devastating, and never, ever a good thing.

  
The alarm was, however, quickly replaced- by rage. Geoff’s grip on the rope tightened, his knuckles standing out against the skin. His brows furrowed and his mouth pressed down into a tight, thin line. The blonde by his side looked absolutely terrified to be the bearer of bad news and just about ready to faint clean away, and Michael couldn’t blame him. But just as quickly, as Geoff’s emotions revealed themselves, he had them under control. His eyes turned back into that untouched canvas, but his grip on the rope never loosened.

  
Something bad had happened.

  
His mouth moved fast, and he never looked away from the ring. The blonde nodded eagerly, almost frantically. When done, Geoff waved him away- the he almost tripped and fell flat on the floor in his eagerness to leave. Burnie watched him go, a small frown on his face, before stepping forward to talk to Geoff.

  
Curiosity tugged at him insistently, and he wanted nothing more than to find out what was going on- but leaving the neutral corner was a boxing foul. He was stuck. He considered sending his coach over to ask, but he was out of the ring and couldn’t be seen. Michael dithered, painfully aware that the next round would start soon but the burning curiosity wouldn’t leave. He muttered to himself, frowning, before calling out. “Geoff!”

  
For a moment, he didn’t think he was heard- then Geoff’s gaze swivelled to lay on him. Burnie turned to stare also, his words faltering. Michael wanted to cross over to them, or call them over- but he knew Geoff wouldn’t appreciate being summoned, bossed around. “What’s going on?” He yelled.

  
Geoff and Burnie shared a glance, one that lasted far too long for Michael’s liking. Burnie’s expression was creased with concern, while Geoff’s was far more stoic. From behind them, Ryan shrugged helplessly. Michael narrowed his eyes- but Geoff shook his head, silently.

  
He was going to argue back, despite the fact he knew it was a terrible idea, but a hand thudded onto his shoulder. His coach was back, and he growled something Michael couldn’t hear properly before shoving him into the middle of the ring.  
The gloves tapped.The bell rang. The fight continued.

  
The kid was much more cautious now. It was almost laughable. He was scowling, his forehead creased with frown lines. There was a cut on his rounded cheek, from under his eye to the side of his nose, and it dribbled blood. His lips were a little swollen too, inflated and a darker pink than before. He concentrated now, much more on edge. Good, Michael thought, pleased. That makes things easier.  
Michael circled him for a minute, moving around the ring easily, like a predator eying up his prey. His opponent’s concern built, and he tried several blows to the ribs. Michael deflected them, easily, expertly- but he kept his hands low, leaving his face open to attack. The boy saw the opportunity. And he took it.

  
Michael turned his head and shot Geoff a dark, daring look- and let himself be punched directly in the face.

  
It wasn’t his best idea, he would admit that. But it worked.

  
He let himself be hit, trying not to laugh at the bewildered noises the crowd and the announcer made, and made no effort to defend himself.

  
Michael was eventually sent down in the ring after a flurry of furious blows, and his back hit the floor heavily. It hurt, like hell, and he winced- but he stayed down for the mandatory ten seconds, barely even pretending to struggle to get up. Then, the time had passed- so he got to his feet, and returned to his corner.

  
His coach was aghast, as expected, but Michael ignored him in favour of Geoff. He tuned out the slur of curses he had shouted at him, and tried not to whimper and wilt under the scowl aimed towards him, and instead thrust out his chin and glowered back. He set his jaw firmly, unmoveable, undefeatable. Geoff looked about ready to wring his neck, his expression shrieking ‘what the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ His own lips quirked in amusement, and he never looked away despite how much he wanted to.

  
It took a while, but Geoff eventually took the bait. He pushed himself off the side of the ring and made his way over, pushing through the crowd. He made no apologies when he shoved into people. No one argued with him.

  
“What the fuck are you playing at?” The boss snarled when he came over to his corner, and while everything screamed at him to beg forgiveness, Michael smirked.

  
“If you don’t tell me what’s happened, I’m losing this fight.” He informed him smugly. He laughed, a low and silvery sound. “Think of all that money you’ll lose.” He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and tried to swallow around the lump of cold fear that lodged itself in his throat. “What a shame.”

  
Geoff looked just about ready to reach out and break his neck- and knowing his reputation, he probably could get away with doing it violently in public. Michael’s reflexes were good- they had to be in his line of work- but he wondered if they were better than a man who had been in the business for several years longer than he had.

  
But Geoff didn’t lash out at him like he expected. Instead, his mouth curled mirthlessly at the edges, and his eyes were cold and cruel. “Gavin’s been shot.” He informed him, and with those three simple but loaded words Michael’s world melted away until there was nothing holding him up. Each of his shallow breaths suddenly burnt. His heart seemed to cease beating in his chest. His legs felt like they had been broken, and they buckled and wavered dangerously. The noises of the crowd tapered off until everything was just simple ambience, worthless and fuzzy sounds that meant nothing to him.

  
His first real thought was that the pizza would have to wait now.

  
His second thought was why, and how?

  
His third and fourth thoughts were who, and I will kill them.

  
“I don’t understand.” Is what he said, and his knees wavered, forcing him to lean against the rope. “I don’t...”

  
Geoff mouth started moving again, but it was all useless static that rose like flames in his ears. He shook his head as if to chase away the noise, and struggled to concentrate. “...in the hospital,” He heard Geoff say, leaking through like a wavering signal. “He’s received serious injuries and blood loss. Jack’s there too, but not as badly hurt.” Geoff rubbed at the back of his neck, clearly aggravated. “I know who fucking did it, and they’re going to fucking regret it.”

  
“Who?” Michael demanded to know, his fear adapting and evolving. Right now, he no longer feared Geoff. He feared for Gavin. “Who did it? I’ll fucking kill the bastards.”

  
Geoff’s eyes flashed with satisfaction, only feeding Michael’s desire for revenge, and he smiled. “Win this fight for me, and I’ll tell you.”  
Michael didn’t even have to think about it. “Done.”

  
Geoff nodded at him, tersely, and moved to shove back through the now impatient crowd. Michael straightened back up, clenching his fists, his heart still residing in his throat. Gavin, he thought as he turned back and stepped into the centre, where the smug little shit waited. Gavin, he thought as he scowled at the bastard, imaging Gavin’s blood on his hands. The rage began to build again, and he wanted nothing more than to beat the kid senseless. He raised his fist and hit the kid’s glove with far more force than was necessary, and he took pride in the way his eyes widened a fraction.

  
The bell rang, and Michael’s fist hit the kid with the force of a freight train.


	2. bright lights and broken glass

When Michael stormed into the hospital the following morning, everyone stared. The patients. The receptionists. Even the janitor who walked by, cleaning up the dirt everyone had tracked into the building. It was like they’d never seen a beat up guy before.

He ignored all of them, striding over the room and nearly treading on a small child’s fingers, and went straight for the main desk. The receptionist, a younger man with golden hair that was cut close to his skull, stared up at him dumbly for a few long seconds. It kept Michael waiting long enough for him to seriously consider planting his fist into his face- but the woman who sat on the chair next to him nudged the boy sharply with an elbow, and he jolted to life.

“Please take a seat, sir.” He said, all detached professionalism. It sounded painfully rehearsed. “There’s other people waiting. We’ll get someone to see to you soon.”

Michael bit back a sharp retort that probably would have lead to an argument and kept him there waiting longer.  “I’m not here for me.” He informed the boy, and he looked surprised. He didn’t blame him. Michael had caught a glance of himself on the way to the hospital, in the reflection of dark glass, and it wasn’t pretty. There was dark, dried blood gathered underneath one nostril that he had neglected to clean away the night before, and his lower lip had been split. He jaw had indeed bruised, making it difficult to speak, and there was a small cut over his right eyebrow. He looked like hell, and he certainly felt like hell. “I’m here to see a man named Gavin Free.”

“Um,” The man said doubtingly, but he turned to his computer and typed something, his long fingers flying across the keyboard. He peered at the screen, occasionally clicking his mouse or typing again. He looked up at him multiple times, for split seconds, as if building up the courage to speak. Michael could still feel everyone staring at him, judging him, probably whispering behind their hands. It made his skin crawl and the rage rise like bile in his throat. His guts felt knotted and his tongue felt twisted, and he wanted nothing more than to see Gavin. But he bet the assholes wouldn’t even let him have that. He was right. “I’m afraid Mr Free can’t be seen right now.” The man told him, sounding apologetic- but he didn’t look sorry at all. “Perhaps tomorrow, but the doctor’s said that there are no visitors allowed today.”

Michael swallowed down the curses that threatened to burst free, and he rested an elbow on the high counter. He rested his cheek on his clenched fist, and it dug uncomfortably into his skin. He pursed his lips and glowed down at the man. “I’m here to see Gavin.” He firmly repeated.

The blonde man bit his lip, a nervous gesture, and tried again. “I’m sorry, sir.” His voice was uncomfortably loud in the quiet waiting room. Everyone held their breath. “But if you leave your name and number with us, we can tell you when you can visit tomorrow.”

Abruptly, Michael slammed his hand down on the counter. It collided with a satisfying smack, but Michael didn’t feel the pain. The receptionists jumped at the solid sound, and the man withdrew as MIchael leaned forward. “Listen to me-” He began, but was interrupted by the sound of man clearing his throat behind him.

Expecting to see a member of security or some fool, perhaps a vigilante patient, waiting there, he was surprised to see Ray. He looked almost as bad as Michael did. His clothes were rumpled and creased and his hair was a mess, suggesting he had slept in his clothes- but the way his posture flagged and the deep bags under his eyes suggested he had slept poorly.  He smiled in greeting, it was clearly forced.

Michael lost interest in the receptionist, and stared. “Jesus Christ, man, are you alright?” He looked him up and down, taking in the worn converses and the hoodie that appeared to be several sizes too big for him. It clearly wasn’t his, but it made him look small and skinny, undefended and weak.

Ray’s grin looked sickly. “Great, man.” He clapped a hand lightly, almost apprehensively on Michael’s shoulder, and stepped forward. The receptionist stared at the two men, his eyes alit with confusion and a little fear. “It’s cool. He’s with me.”

Michael expected to be stopped anyway- but the receptionist nodded eagerly, more times than was strictly necessary. “Go on up.” He said quickly, gesturing towards the stairs across the room, and turned back to his computer, fidgeting. Ray muttered a quick ‘thanks’ and turned away, trudging towards the stairs. Michael said nothing and followed, shooting him a dark look before turning away.

“What did you do to the guy?” Michael tried to joke as they hopped up the stairs, moving to get out of the way of a nurse who jogged by them, her expression harried. He wanted to take the steps two at a time, he wanted to dash down the halls and hunt Gavin down, but he didn’t want to seem too eager. He didn’t want to reveal the details of their relationship to Ray like he had foolishly done to Geoff. Besides, he had no idea where his lover was being kept- and he doubted Ray could keep up.

Ray shrugged his shoulders in a tiny movement, the gesture almost too much for the exhausted looking man. “It wasn’t me.” He huffed out a heavy sigh. “It was Geoff.”

“Say no more.” Michael cut across before Ray could continue. Please, say no more.

He got the message. Ray lead him up two flights of stairs, then along several hallways. The rooms were shockingly bright, and the pure white walls hurt his tired eyes. As they got closer to the hospital rooms, it gradually grew more colourful- there were paintings on the wall of beautiful landscapes, scrawled little doodles by sick children, and posters advertising health tips or support groups. The amount of people also grew- the occasional patient wandering to their appointment turning into a small group of nurses, a few people being pushed in wheelchairs or beds.

They eventually made it to Gavin’s room, slipping wordlessly past the busy nurses that watched over the ill and the injured and the dying, and all thoughts of anyone else slipped from Michael’s mind. The room was cool, soothingly so, but it was so empty. Gavin was the only one in the room- the other beds were neatly made and the sheets were spotless. The windows were tightly closed and nothing lay out of place. Gavin had nothing on his bedside table- no gifts, flowers, or cards.

Michael hadn’t ever seen him quite the way he was now. He was always tall and ridiculously skinny- but he looked almost skeletal. His arms were like twigs, thin and easily breakable, and his waist was nothing. A white bandage had been wrapped tightly around his chest, from underneath his arms to above his ribs, and it showed just how small his lover was. His cheek was covered too, hiding some injury Michael had a feeling he didn’t want too see. He wanted to brush his hand over his. He wanted to feel the warmth of his skin, just so he knew he was still alive. There were so many things he wanted- needed- to do.

Michael tried to keep himself calm in front of Ray, and it was the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life. He stepped forward slowly, trying to act casually, creeping forward. Gavin didn’t move a muscle, and he couldn’t hear or see his breaths.The only thing that showed Michael that the man he loved was alive was the steady beeps of the life support machine at his side.

He let out a breath and moved to stand at the foot of the bed, reaching forward and touching Gavin’s blanket-covered feet. The only noise was his footfalls. He frowned, stepping around it and taking the empty seat by Gavin’s bedside. Ray stood opposite him, and they both looked down at their friend. He looked peaceful, despite everything. “What happened?” Michael asked, his voice hushed in the silence of the room.

“There was a drug drop.” Ray began, absentmindedly reaching up to rub at his face, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “It was me, Gav and Jack. I was told to stay outside, look out for anyone getting too close or looking shifty, like normal. It was all fine for ages, nothing happened, but then I heard the shot.” He sighed, holding his face in one hand. He looked like he’d aged a hundred years. “It was the first time I’d needed to do something- I freaked out for a bit, then by the time I’d run up it was already done. Gavin was out, on the floor, and Jack had been fucked up a bit but he’d killed the guys who did it. There were three of them, and Jack only got two, but he got the guy who shot him and the other one who cut him.” He stopped, and let out a long breath. He crossed one arm across himself, holding his lower stomach as if defensively. His other hand went to his mouth, and he began to chew on his sleeve. Michael wondered if the hoodie’s owner would be mad- then he remembered he didn’t care. He was busy cursing his bad luck that he couldn’t be the last thing the people who dared hurt Gavin saw.

“What had happened to Gavin?”

Ray pointed at his lover’s chest first, gesturing at the bandages. “He got shot in the chest.” He began. “He’s got a broken rib, and he’s probably going to be as bruised up as fuck, and he’s gonna find it hard to breathe. Poor guy.” He gestured up to Gavin’s face. “He got cut up pretty bad too, by some psycho. Along a bit of his cheek, on his neck a bit and down his chest. He got stabbed in the thigh too.” He flashed Michael a grin. “You look amazing compared to how he’s gonna look when he gets out of here.”

Michael resisted the urge to grab for Gavin’s hand, and ignored the jab at his appearance. “He’s gonna be alright, then?”

“Well, yeah. Thank God he was wearing a bulletproof vest, right?”

Michael scowled, and his voice was hard enough to cut into a diamond. “Geoff neglected to mention that part.” But he let it go, knowing nothing he could say mattered. What was done was done. Instead, he pushed himself back, the chair scraping along the floor, forcing his gaze from Gavin to Ray. “So what exactly happened? Who were the attackers?”

“They were members of a new and upcoming gang.” Ray supplied as he walked around to the end of Gavin’s bed, taking a seat directly at the corner. “They got into contact with us a while back, and Geoff wanted to let them flourish a little- so the police would focus on them and and take some of the heat off us. We offered them an olive branch, of sorts.” He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, scowling down at the floor. “And the assholes threw it back in our faces.”

Michael knew he was angry. Who wouldn’t have been? He wanted nothing more than to hunt down the people who had hurt his lover and make them pay, hopefully die screaming- but he didn’t let the rage come to the surface. He kept it trapped behind obsidian walls, let it smolder and stagnate, biding it’s time. Now wasn’t the time for anger- it was the time for care. Violence would no doubt have it’s hour later.

“I didn’t think you were this close.” Ray eventually said, his voice suddenly breaking out in the room. Michael almost jumped, tearing his gaze away from Gavin. He hummed curiously, tilting his head to one side. “I said I didn’t think you were this close. I thought you’d only met a few times.”

“Oh.” Michael glanced back down, lacing his hands together in his lap. “Nah, we knew each other. Went out for drinks. Played video games. We were are actually pretty friendly.”

“Oh.” Ray echoed, and that was it. Michael listened to the life support machine beep, letting it lull him, reassure him that Gavin was still here and he had no intent to leave. He wished Ray wasn’t there. He would have pulled his chair closer and curled up to him on the bed and slept, comforted by Gavin’s silent presence. He hadn’t managed to rest the night after his match- he had lain there stiffly in his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what state his opponent must have been in. He hadn’t been that furious in years, and he had taken all that rage out on the kid. He didn’t know how he avoided being disqualified for overkill.

Geoff, most likely. It seemed to always be Geoff.

Fuck, he thought, and he knew if Gavin was able to he would have agreed wholeheartedly.

“I’m gonna go get a drink.” Ray spoke up, eventually, and Michael looked up. He had been holding his head in one hand, willing himself not to fall himself. He gave the other man an uneasy smile, nodding, muttering a tiny ‘okay’. “Do you want something? You look like you need one.”

“I’d appreciate something with alcohol.” He tried to laugh, but it fell flat. Ray looked sympathetic, but managed what he couldn’t- a smile.

“I’ll try my best, but no promises.” He told him, and left.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, Michael was dragging the chair closer and grasping for Gavin’s hand. His fingers either curled around his wrist or laced into his, and when his fingertips glided across the smoothness of his tanned flesh, he let himself choke out a sigh of relief. He knew it was stupid, knew that Ray could have suddenly came back at any second but he had never cared less. He clutched Gavin’s hand like a lifeline, like his life would end when he had to let go.

“Gavin.” He breathed, completely involuntarily. He bowed his head, pressing Gavin’s encased hand to his forehead. Michael was in a position of prayer, his grip increasingly tight, his heart aching in his chest. “I’m sorry.” He apologised, even though rationally he knew he had nothing to apologise for. It just felt right. “I love you.”

There was no response. Michael hadn’t expected one- him waking up at that precise moment in time would have been far too cliche, unbearably so. He half lay there gripping at his lover, listening to the sounds of his own breath, the life support machine that seemed to match his heartbeat perfectly, and the distant sounds of shouting deeper within the hospital. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the ambience of the hospital. He took comfort from the heat of Gavin’s skin- the comfort only someone you loved could provide.

Silence.

He wasn’t sure if he had fallen asleep for a minute or two, or perhaps if he teetered on the edge of dreams and reality- but he closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, his eyes felt heavy and his body felt sluggish.

The sound of shouting had grown closer, and as the volume grew Michael’s eyes widened with recognition. The heavy feeling changed it weightlessness. Dan, he barely had time to think, before the footfalls were thudding directly outside the hospital room’s door. He sprung back, letting go of Gavin’s hand just has the door burst open, almost slamming against the wall with the force.

Dan swept into the room, a hurricane in human form. He was angrier than Michael had ever seen him, the usually mellow man filled with rage. His eyes fell immediately onto Gavin’s bed, and for a split second he softened with fear and the kind of care a man had for a brother- and then he saw Michael, and the rage came flying back. Ray followed close behind him, and sticking close to his ankles, but he had shrunk down, a quivering mouse in the shadow of a hungry lion.

“You.” Dan hissed, and Michael tensed in his seat. He pushed his chair further back, trying to keep a safe distance between them. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Dan!” Ray tried to call after him, but his half hearted attempt at placating him crashed and burned. “Dan!”

A nurse stormed after him, a small woman, but her fury matched Dan’s perfectly. “Sir, you’re going to have to calm down.” She told him, firmly and loudly. “Or you’ll have to leave.”

He rounded on her, practically spitting fire- but Ray intervened, stepping in between them. The boy wasn’t much shorter than Dan- but he looked like a mouse compared to Dan’s lionheart. Ray put his back to the nurse, spreading his hands out passively towards Dan. “Stay calm.” He spoke gently, imploringly, not wanting to add fuel to the already blazing and out of control flames. “Please, there are other people in this hospital and we shouldn’t disturb them.”

Dan glowered at the two of them, shifting his gaze from his colleague to the nurse. His jaw had locked tightly. He looked ready to argue, ready to fight, and Michael knew a fist fight in the middle of a hospital room would not be good news. His stomach churned with a sickening mixture of guilt, insecurity and rage. He wanted to fall on his knees and beg for Dan’s forgiveness- but he wanted to storm up to him and punch him in the jaw.Trapped in between two conflicting emotions and ideals, like a butterfly on a pin, he could do nothing. He sat and watched, wide eyed.

The man eventually snorted with disgust and tore away from them, stomping over to Gavin’s bed. He knelt on the other side of it, opposite Michael, and took one of his hands, careful of the IV. He did exactly what Michael had done- clutched it like someone was trying to take his friend away forever, his calloused thumb sliding against the prominent lines of his knuckles. His eyes transformed again what he looked at Gavin, the fury not melting away but retracing- it knew Gavin didn’t deserve his ire, but it was there, lying in wait for those who did. “B.” Michael thought he heard him breathe, but it may have been his imagination.

The nurse lingered, a little nervously, but Ray turned and flashed her an award winning smile. He murmured something to her, something Michael didn’t give a damn about, and she eventually left, shooting Dan a suspicious glance over her shoulder. Lost in Gavin, he didn’t notice.

Michael considered reaching out and touching Dan’s shoulder, but he liked having both hands still attached to his arms, so he didn’t. He shifted forward a little again, though, and tilted his head to one side. “They all say he’s going to be alright.”

Dan turned, and that flame came flying back, washing around Michael and boiling his skin. “He better be alright. Or I swear to God, I’ll skin you alive.” His voice was low but heavy, bearing the weight of a promise.

He recoiled, blinking up at his colleague.“I wasn’t there.” Michael defended himself, but he couldn’t find it in him to be angry. It stunned him a little, usually he couldn’t control his rage, but he was too tired for it. “I wasn’t the one who hurt him.”

“My best friend is lying in a hospital bed, Jones.” Dan gritted out, his posture completely straight and rigid. “And you and your friends were supposed to protect him.”

“I wasn’t there,” He repeated, stressing his words. He dropped his voice to a whisper so Ray wouldn’t hear their discussion. “If I was, I would have killed to keep him safe. But you know full well Gavin and I have different responsibilities.”

Dan opened his mouth to snap at him- but Ray cut across them. “I don’t know what either of you are whispering about, but quit arguing. You’re giving me a headache.” He retook his spot at the end of Gavin’s bed and leaned over, towards Michael, offering him a bottle. It was a bottle of plain water, and Michael shot him a look. “I didn’t want you crashing.” Ray informed him, and he offered the same to Dan. They both took it grudgingly, but Dan put it to one side while Michael immediately look a look, deep drink. He hadn’t realised how parched he was until the water hit his lips.

“He’s going to be fine.” Ray assured them both again, and Dan barked out a loud laugh, mirthless and bitter.

“Look at him.” He jerked a thumb towards his chest. “That’s a broken rib, it’s going to hurt like hell. He’ll have trouble breathing, difficulty walking at first.” Dan’s voice wavered, as if he were speaking around a lump of grief in his throat, or trying to hold back tears. Both possibilities made self loathing and hatred sting Michael’s own eyes. “That cut on his cheek is probably going to scar. He’s going to be in so much pain, just because you guys fucked up.”

“He’s not going to be killed, or crippled.” Ray snapped back, losing his patience. “Chill the fuck out, he’s going to be fine. He’ll get painkillers, Geoff’ll give him time off, whatever, just be cool, yeah?”

Dan’s scowl deepened, surprisingly deep and dark frown lines slashed in his forehead and cheeks for one so you. He served Ray a oppressive glare, one that would have pinned the most fearless person to their seat- and Puerto Rican made a disgusted noise, shaking his head and roughly twisting the lid of his own drink, breaking their gaze.

Dan blinked at him- then ran a hand through his hair, the dark tufts poking out from between his fingers. He stayed like that, simply staring down at Gavin for a long while. Then, he sighed softly, and averted his gaze, staring at what seemed to be Michael’s knees. “Sorry.” He told them. “I didn’t mean to,” He swallowed. “I’m just worried.”

“Don’t worry.” Ray shook his head. “We all are.”

“It was irrational of me.” Dan pressed on. “I knew the danger. We all do. I shouldn’t have jumped down your throats.” He spoke with a surprising amount of sincerity. He shrugged his shoulders a little awkwardly, clearly not used to apologizing after a fit of rage. “I’m sorry.”

This time, Michael did reach out, gently bumping a clenched fist in Dan’s shoulder. He offered him a witless, strained smile. “It’s no problem.” He confirmed, and Dan returned a mirror image smile.

The life support machine was Michael’s only comfort in the silence that followed.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Michael’s back, pressed against the uncomfortable hospital chair was killing him, but he never complained, and he never left the room.

He had spent the night curled up in that chair, practically in the fetal position, never wanting to be apart from Gavin. It was a stupid fear, really, and Ray had told him that straight to his face. Gavin wouldn’t die, he probably wouldn’t wake up that night and the nurses would be suspicious- but he didn’t care. He just sat there, waiting. His aching back and arms and legs screamed at him, for god’s sake what are you doing to us, but he ignored it. He wasn’t worried about himself, not right now.

Nurses came and went, morning, noon and night, glaring at Dan when he was still there, checking on Gavin, asking Michael probing questions that he could have done without. Ray had left quickly, lamenting that he had to do some of Gavin’s abandoned duties but promising to stay in touch. Dan stayed longer, until the sun was falling in the sky and the darkness devoured it’s last rays of light- and he finally had to go home and sleep in preparation for his own work the next day. Michael remained. He had no upcoming fights. Even if he had, he didn’t think he would have left, Geoff’s income be damned.

He fell asleep irregularly, never nodding off for long than an hour at most.

He woke up in the late afternoon to a trembling hand lightly squeezing his, the blunt nail of a thumb scratching lightly against the back of his hand.

Michael yawned quietly, shifting against his seat, not yet realizing what was happening. He groaned when he released just how badly his back ached, regretting everything and nothing at the same time. He rubbed at his face, almost dislodging the glasses he had left on the night before, and opened his heavy, sleepy eyes. As soon as his eyes focused, his breath caught in his throat.

He was awake. Gavin’s eyes were wide and cold with fear and confusion, darting around the room wildly, and he was shivering, his body twitching and trembling. His breaths were steady but too quick to be relaxed, and he almost choked several times around the tube in his throat. He had pulled his legs up closer to himself, in an instinctive and defensive reaction that did nothing to help him.

Michael jumped up, too fast- he spooked Gavin and he jolted in bed, sucking in a gasp, and he choked around the tube, his throat tightening. He sat up and gagged, clutching at his chest, almost tugging on the IV. Hating seeing his lover in such discomfort, Michael was on his feet in seconds, immediately hitting the call button for assistance. Then, he brought his hand to Gavin’s stomach, not wanting to crowd him. He rubbed soothingly at him, feeling him quiver. “Hey, hey,” He muttered softly. “Don’t worry, I’m here, it’s all gonna be okay.”

Gavin kept hacking and coughing, his face flushing red and one hand grasping at his throat, and Michael could do nothing but wait for the nurse. He kept doodling that small pattern and let Gavin squeeze the feeling out of his other hand. He felt bizarrely like a man comforting his labouring partner.

The nurse appeared, a young man with furrowed brows. When he heard the commotion, he ducked his head out of the room again, calling out, “The patient’s awake!” In response, there was a flurry of noise, voices and footfalls, and two more nurses bustled in, one of them the lady from before. Those two went straight to Gavin, while the man turned his gaze to Michael.

“I need you to go out.” The original nurse demanded, and when he dithered, his expression hardened. “Now, sir.”

He was practically shoved out of the room, quite ungracefully, and he was left to stew in anxiety for far too long. He paced outside the door, only seconds away from tearing his hair out, seriously considering kicking the damn door down. But he knew nurses dealt with assholes like him on a regular basis, and despite everything, they knew what Gavin needed and what was best for him. He didn’t want to add to their troubles.

Still, it was hard to keep calm, not knowing what was happening in the room.

After what seemed like an eternity- but after Michael checked his phone, was actually about seven minutes- the door reopened, and Michael jumped. Two nurses scurried out, heading in different directions without giving him a sideways glance- and the one that remained, a woman he didn’t recognise offered him a brilliant but ultimately professional smile. “Mr Free is ready to see you if you want, sir.”

Michael wanted to shove past her and throw himself into Gavin’s arms, but he kept his composure. “Is he alright?”

“Yes, that was normal.” She nodded, her low voice reassuring. Michael was grateful. He needed that kind of calming influence. “He woke up in unfamiliar surroundings in an uncomfortable position- his reaction was perfectly ordinary.”

He nodded sharply in return, once, and thanked her quietly before making his way back into the hospital room. He heard her leave, her flat shoes echoing along the tiled floor as he stepped inside, immediately looking to the bed.

Gavin had been propped up against some pillows, his back resting comfortably against the mass. Michael knew from experience that hospital pillows weren’t the most comfortable or the thicket- but he had three of them tucked carefully behind him. The tube had been removed from his throat, freeing him and allowing him to breathe alone, but the IV was still in his hand and the life support machine bleeped on. When Michael entered, Gavin was staring lifelessly out into nothing, his eyes blank- but upon spotting him in his peripheral vision, he beamed, all that vibrant, beautiful life of his returning in a sudden wave.

“Michael.” He says, licking his dry, chapped lips, and it sounded like a chorus of angels. Michael wanted to sweep across the room and kiss him until the building crumbled around them and the sun expanded. He didn’t. Instead, he returned the grin and walked casually across the room, taking a seat directly beside him, perching on the side of the bed. He reached out, his fingers brushing along his temple.

“Gavin,” He returned, and Gavin hummed, tilting his face into his touch. “How are you feeling?” He let him nuzzle into his warm palm, huffing as if the puppylike gesture irritated him and hiding how pleased and wanted it made him feel.

“A lot better,” He said, practically purring. “Now that I’m not getting mucked up by some crazies, and now I’ve not got a tube stuck down my throat.” His eyes gleamed. “Now you’re here.”

Michael shrugged, and leant down to press a dry but long kiss to the centre of his forehead. His skin was a little sticky with faint sweat, but he didn’t care. “I’ve always been here. I never left you when I found out what happened.”

Gavin cooed at him, and when he drew away, the injured man reached up, cupping the back of Michael’s neck and brought him back down, pressing a proper kiss on his lips. His lips were uncomfortably dry, but Michael ignored it, revelling in his warmth. “How nice of you.” He laughed when he eventually let him pull away, a satisfied smile curving on his lips. “Mogar, my guardian angel.”

He felt himself blush violently, and he would have leant over and lightly thumped him on the arm. Now, he didn’t dare. “Does it hurt?” He asked instead.

“Nah.” Gavin gave him that goofy, crooked smile, and it was probably the most beautiful thing Michael had ever seen. “They gave me drugs. You could punch me in the ribs and I think I wouldn’t care.” He shifted a little against the pillows. “At least I can actually breathe, right?”

“It’s a start,” He nodded. “I’m just glad you’re alright. After what happened.”

Gavin hummed, his smile faltering a little. He reached up to touch his bandaged check, almost absentmindedly. “I remember it all.” He tugged at a dark lock of hair, frowning. “I didn’t think I would- I didn’t want to remember, but I guess I don’t have any choice.” He leaned his head back and sighed, and flickered his eyes to Michael’s. “What happened to Jack and Ray? What happened to the other group?”

“Oh, I, uh…I never asked about Jack.” Guilt swirled once more in his stomach. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have cared-he didn’t know the man at all- but now he felt a strange amount of respect and gratitude towards him. I’ll have to buy him flowers. “I think he’s alright. Ray’s fine too, just a bit tired. He and Dan were here yesterday, but Geoff’s hounding them, so they couldn’t stay.” Michael reached out took ahold of Gavin’s hand, squeezing it comfortingly. “Jack killed two of the three others. The one who shot you and the one who cut you.”

Something like steel flashed in his eyes, and although he didn’t smile, when he spoke he sounded satisfied. “Good. Bastards.” He closed his eyes, sighing. Michael stared at him. That’s not like him, he thought, watching him carefully. Sure, these people hurt him pretty bad- but he’d never want someone dead.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he only held Gavin’s hands in both of his, and he leant forward to press a quick kiss to his unbandaged cheek. “Well, you’re safe now. And hopped up on painkillers.”

“I’ll be able to catch up on sleep.” Gavin spoke wistfully, smiling. “Shame I won’t be able to have any good food or beers.”

“I don’t know, Gavvy. With that pretty face of yours, you’ll have all the nurses wrapped around your little finger.” He half joked, half stated. “But when you get out, you can have everything you want. I’ll be your servant for as long as you like.”

“Promise?” Gavin asked, opening his eyes to reveal the mischief that danced within, and instead of speaking, Michael leaned forward and sealed the promise with a kiss.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

An hour later, Gavin had fallen into a deep sleep- and within another hour, Geoff Ramsey stood at the edge of the bed, his ashen face like thunder.

Michael shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. He had strayed away from Gavin’s bedside, keeping a careful, professional distance between them. But it was all to no avail. Geoff was staring at him, his dark eyes as hard as polished black stones.

“How long have you two been together?” He demanded to know. Michael found himself grateful that the others- Jack, Ryan, and Ray- had lingered outside, behind the closed door. Gavin was sleeping, and he was not to be awoken by so many noisy guests, the nurses had informed them, and while Michael never liked people who thought they knew best, if it kept Geoff’s men away from him, he appreciated it. “Is it serious?”

He hung his head, as if ashamed. He certainly wasn’t. “A couple of months, sir.” He confirmed, his voice deliberately small. When it came to Geoff, honesty was by far the best policy. “And it’s pretty serious.” He glanced down at the slumbering Gavin with fondness he didn’t have to fake. “I love him.”

He could practically hear Geoff’s indignation. “You’re both fools.” He reached up and rubbed agitatedly at his forehead, growling. He looked tired, even more so than usual. Michael imagined that after the shooting, something he had no doubt seen as a great offence, Geoff had everyone working double time to show the other gang that they were not to be messed with. But even though he seemed exhausted, his boss’ mind was as sharp as ever. “This started after the match Gavin saw, didn’t it?”

“It started when you took us to that bar.” He rectified. “We started going out a few times, just as mates. But then it changed, and we, well,” He shrugged helplessly, the memory of their kiss and Gavin’s touches all coming back to him. The pleasant memories almost consumed him, making his eyes a little foggy. “We became something more.”

“For God’s sake.” He heard Geoff grit out. Michael narrowed his eyes when Geoff’s wedding band gleamed underneath the harsh hospital lights. “At least try to hide it. Do you know how dangerous this relationship can be? How dangerous it is?”

“You and Griffon seem to be very happy with each other.” He snapped back- and immediately regretted it when Geoff scowled, his hands clenching into fists. His posture tensed, abruptly rigid.

“Do not talk back to me.” He thundered, his voice raising unbearably loud in the silence of the room. “I’ve been lenient due to the circumstances, but I will not stand for such insolence. And certainly not when it comes to her.”

Michael bowed his head and averted his gaze, the very picture of submission. “I’m sorry, sir.” He acknowledged. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Damn right you shouldn’t.” He sneered, baring his white teeth dangerously, to Michael relief he let it go. His tense form slowly relaxed, and he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. What’s done is done.” He stepped forward, moving around to approach Gavin’s bed, and Michael tried not to flinch as he brushed past him. His footfalls were as loud as gunshots. Geoff ghosted his fingers against Gavin’s still hand, his expression now thoughtful. “I’m going to destroy these new players.” He spoke as innocently as if he was discussing the weather. “They don’t get to show us such disrespect and then get to continue living.” Geoff lifted his head, turning back to Michael. “I wasn’t going to let them live forever, anyway. Joel and I were planning to exploit their usefulness, and then destroy them when they began to be a burden.” He stepped away from Gavin, facing Michael and crossing his arms loosely, casually against his chest. “They’re a nuisance now, so we’re going to hunt those fuckers down and slaughter every last one of them.I want to assure you that this will be our priority.”

“I think Gavin will be pleased to hear that.” Michael responded carefully, and he nearly jumped when Geoff threw back his head and practically bellowed with rough, loud laughter. He silently marvelled at Gavin’s apparent ability to sleep through anything.

“Please.” Geoff snorted. “Gavin’s a pussy. He won’t like seeing all the bloodshed. He hates seeing death.”

“I don’t know, sir.” He disagreed, but respectfully. He’s been different ever since you showed him some fucker’s corpse two weeks ago, asshole. He felt like pointing that out, confronting him about all the reasons why- but didn’t want to bring Geoff’s wrath down again. He swallowed his ire down and pressed his lips together tightly. “When he woke up, I told him that two of the three were dead, and he seemed pretty happy with that.”

There was silence for a long moment, in which Geoff eyed him, as if trying to tell whether or not he was lying. They could hear Ryan muttering something illegible outside, and Jack grunting as if in agreement, and the chatter of nurses and patients alike. “Interesting.” Geoff eventually mused, his lips twisting as he thought. “That’s very interesting.”

You broke my boyfriend, motherfucker, how the hell is that interesting?

Before Michael could say something he would most certainly regret, Geoff had abruptly turned on his heel, gliding across the room on the cold tiled floor. Michael watched him go soundlessly. “You need to go home and relax. Get some proper sleep.” He called back to him as he yanked open the room’s door. He jerked his head inside the room, gesturing to the people outside to come in. “I’m leaving Gavin some guards, so you can’t argue that he’ll be alone.” Two people stepped into the room- Ray, who slinked in like a shadow, and Jack, who didn’t even bother to be quiet. His boots thumped heavily on the floor while Ray didn’t make a sound. “I’ve already discussed it with the hospital, there’s no problem.” Geoff grinned, his lips turning up at the corners lazily. “Not that there would have been a problem.”

Ray smiled in greeting, reaching forward to bump a fist into Michael’s shoulder as soon as he was close enough. “Hey, man.” He was considerably chirpier than the night before, Michael noted, and his expression were infinitely more genuine. The wonders of sleep, Michael bet. “You look like crap.”

“Thanks, asshole.” He muttered back, and turned to stare at Jack. The man looked no worse for wear, other than bruises staining his jaw and a small cut just underneath his eye. It had been stitched shut by the looks of things, but Jack didn’t seem to care. The man bowed his head, saying nothing, and Michael mimicked the movement respectfully. “You’re leaving these guys to guard Gavin? Why?”

“It’s just a precaution.” Geoff told him as he shut the door behind them, nodding at Ryan before he did so. “Just in case the group gets any ideas.”

“So the could have attacked yesterday when I was the only one here?”

Carelessly, Geoff shrugged. “They didn’t.”

“Don’t worry.” Ray interjected before Michael could snap back. “I’m useless, don’t get me wrong, but Jack’s basically the Hulk. He’s always angry. Vav’ll be fine.” Ray stole Michael’s seat next to Gavin’s bed, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together. “Jack’ll be outside the door. They’ll never get past him. And if by any amazing chance they do…” He shifted his arm, pulling back part of his plain black jacket. Silver shone underneath the light. A gun. “I won’t let them get any closer.”

Michael wasn’t sure if that was supposed to comfort him or give him anxiety. Ray was a good shot, he knew that for a fact, but he wasn’t sure if he was mad about the idea of Ray having a gun in a public hospital. The man saw the look on his face, the concern as clear as day. “Don’t worry, Michael, it’ll be fine.” He gave him a reassuring smile, but Michael couldn’t muster up the emotional strength to return it.

Geoff was suddenly behind him right at the second, and his hand fell to rest heavily on Michael’s left shoulder. “I want you to go home.” He told him, his voice deep and gruff and serious. “You came straight from the fight and have been here since. You need proper sleep. Proper food. Relaxation.”

“How exactly can I relax when there’s a gang out there, potentially gunning for us?” Gunning for Gavin, he omitted, not wanting to reveal their relationship to anymore people than he already had. But Geoff smiled thinly and clapped his hand on his shoulder.

“He’ll be fine. We’re all working on it. And we’ll promise to call you if anything comes up.” He shifted his hand a little, from directly on Michael’s shoulder to further up his throat, a subtly threatening touch that guided him up the room, towards the door. Michael drifted helplessly, not wanting to pull away but wanting to remain with Gavin. “I would do it personally- you deserve that respect, Michael, at least- but both Burnie and I are busy. The police were called when someone heard the gunshot at the hotel, and we’re dealing with it. Ray’ll call you, yeah?” Across the room, the man nodded, but said nothing. “Good. Now, go get some sleep, Michael. You need it. I want you in perfect shape.”

The words were noticeably ominous- in perfect shape for what?- and Michael felt sick. The worry in his heart collided with his poor physical state, and his body felt limp, heavy, useless. He imagined Gavin under attack, he imagined himself under attack, and he knew he wouldn’t be of any help to anyone. Grudgingly, he allowed himself to be led to the door. “Okay.” He said, his voice practically a whisper.

“Good.” He was manhandled through the door as Geoff hummed with satisfaction. “You can come back tomorrow, but you have to get a good night’s sleep.” He pulled him down the hallway, ignoring the sideways glances stranger’s gave him and how they whispered behind their hands or scurried down the halls, trying to avoid him. They made it down the stairs, Michael feeling like he was being marched to his doom. He noted, as they walked through the waiting room, that the man at the reception was no longer there.

They made it outside, and the warmth of the evening air still lingered. It felt cool on Michael’s skin. “I know you’re worried.” Geoff suddenly spoke up, his voice surprisingly fair. “If I was in your position, and Griffon was lying in a hospital bed, I wouldn’t leave her side. I’d be pulling my hair out, demanding that the bastards who hurt her be found and made to pay.” He paused, running his tongue along his lips. “But your well being- both emotional and physical- is important. So you need to go home.”

“Yes, sir.” Michael replied stiffly, and Geoff watched him silently for a moment longer before hailing him a cab, and sending him home for the night.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Michael thudded his head against the wood of his old door, and he groaned, long and loud. He didn't care about any of his neighbors- the crackhead young couple with the baby to the left, and the noisy old bitch to the right- and he certainly didn't care about their feelings, not after everything they had done to piss him off.

He was tired, moody, worried, and he had tried to stick his keys in the keyhole five times so far and he had missed. Every single time.

The exhaustion had hit him as soon as he clambered out of the cab. Geoff had pressed a few bills into the hand of his driver as soon as he made sure Michael was shut into the back seat. It was enough for the route to his apartment- Michael wouldn't realise he had never told Geoff where he lived until the next morning- and a decent tip, so the driver was polite and helpful the whole way there.

Michael wasn't sure if it was an act of kindness or repayment. "Hey, Michael, sorry I got your boyfriend shot. Here's money for your cab. Forgive me?" It was hardly going to work. But Michael couldn't say shit about it.

Removing his forehead from the door with a low sigh, he rubbed uselessly at his face and grumbled, deep in his throat. He grasped his key, the metal smooth in his warm, slightly sweaty hand and tried again.

He missed, the metal scraping against the worn bronze of the keyhole.

"God fucking damnit." He snarled, but he focused, and tried once more, more than ready to stab someone in the guts with the key- and he managed it. He twisted his wrist roughly, and the door clicked, and opened. "Thank fuck for that." He rumbled to himself, and put the key his pocket, shoving it down. He pressed the door open with his foot, not caring if it scuffed.

He stepped into his apartment and slammed the door shut with the intentions of shrugging off his coat and climbing straight into his bed, shoes and clothes be damned, but something hits him straight away, turning his blood to ice and catching the breath in his throat.

The mirror that resided directly above a cabinet in his hallway was shattered, lines cracking, reaching up to each corner, showing multiple tiny, ruined reflections of himself.

His first reaction was dread. Fear was like clay, weighing him down, stuffing his throat and suffocating him. His fight or flight instincts screamed, get out of there or stay and fight. He didn't know which to do.

His second was confusion. How? The door was locked, there was no sign of forced entry. There were scratches and small bits of wood missing, but the door had always been like that. It had been torn at by angry drunks and scratched at by some feral, owner-less cat over the year or so he had lived there. Nothing was different about it. No one had a key, not even Gavin. It didn't make sense.

And if anyone was still here, they now knew he was home.

Michael glued his eyes to the end of his hallway, cautious and careful as he reached back and reopened the door. He didn't know if he would need to make a quick escape- but it wouldn't hurt to be careful. He removed his coat quickly but quietly, listening for any odd sounds coming from his apartment. He heard nothing.

He hung up his coat, and reached for the mirror, lifting it off of the wall. He hated the damn thing, so he didn't care much, but it was yet another thing missing that made his place look crappy and empty. He placed it on the cabinet, as quiet as possible, and removed the longest and sharpest shard of glass he could find. He withheld a hiss as he cut his fingers, small beads of blood falling from new wounds, but he held the glass as tight as he could without injuring himself further, and stepped down the hallway.

The silence was stifling, and Michael was on edge, just like he was before a fight, anticipating a flurry of action in a matter of seconds. He walked down steadily, carefully emerging into his living room in no time at all, sooner than he would have liked, and the breath stuttered in his throat.

He hadn't left the room tidy, exactly, he was far too messy for that, but he hadn't left it in this state. The stack of video games that he had surrounding his entertainment center had been knocked over, cases spilling on the floor. He ran his eyes over them deftly, furiously, but as far as he could tell they had not been touched. His table had been flipped over, lying on its side halfway across the room from where it had been originally placed. The cushions on the sofa had been torn from their positions, even cut open, with the thick white stuffing like clouds removed and tossed across the room. Everything was was movable had been moved, and several of his cupboards had been left open side, it's contents delved through, some lying on the floor. But there was no one still there, lingering in the darkness and the shadow, and no possible point of entry.

He moved on quickly, to the kitchen. It was devoid of life, and in the same state. Every single drawer had been ripped open, and when he peered inside the cutlery drawer he found it a mess. The fridge and the freezer had both been left open, and the inner light in the open fridge seeped out onto the kitchen floor, shining on the water that seeped out from the freezer. He bit back a curse, moving on quickly. His bathroom and bedroom told the exact same story, except there was more waiting for him in the bedroom.

As he made his way through his home, the air had grown colder. He had noticed it when he first walked in, but he thought little of it, chalking it down to the fact that night was falling and he hadn't turned the heating on. But the intensity of the cold grew steadily as he made his way to the bedroom until it was freezing, and goose flesh rose on Michael's arms. In his bedroom, he found the reason why.

The windows had been smashed, every single one of them. The glass littered the carpet, testifying to the fact that they had been smashed from the outside by someone trying to get in. The air from outside blew into the room, directly into his face, and the dull thick curtains that once hung uselessly on the curtain rail blew into his room. His apartment had never been so cold before.

So that's how they got in, he thought, not angrily, not wondrously- numbly.

On the bed, several of his personal effects had been dumped. The gun he had hidden behind the headboard, for starters, had been carelessly dropped on the pillows, which had also been ripped open. His laptop screen had been smashed, several of the letters missing and the disc tray torn loose. His address book, any note books, his house phone- anything that could have held personal information about himself or others had been taken and searched through and dumped.

He looked around, dumbly, feeling as if he were in a dream.

Then he saw that some of the pictures on the table were missing. He had gathered them over the years- if there were any special moments he wanted kept and treasured, he took a photo, got it printed and kept it safely in a little photo frame. It was a little pathetic and he was always embarrassed and angry whenever they were pointed out, but he never threw them away. Not ever. There were some of his parents, some of an old family pet- they were still there, some of them smashed, but still his. The rest of the pictures held others, equally as dear to his heart. Most of them were of Gavin, taken in the bar, or a restaurant, on a date, at a friend's, at home, before a fight, after a fight. You name it, there was probably a picture of it. He loved to wake up if Gavin hadn't spent the night and see a picture of Gavin by his side, beaming at the camera with that crooked grin, his arms wrapped around Michael or Dan or Ray.

They were all gone.

That's when he got angry.

The rage created a murky fog in his head and in front of his eyes, and he could barely see a thing or make sense of what he needs to do. All he wanted to do was scream and shout and maybe punch someone in the face. He wanted to make someone beg for mercy, he wanted to make whoever did this sorry for ever even stepping foot into his apartment building. He dropped the shard of glass and paces the room, hearing the glass from the window crack underneath his shoes. He stared out the window into the evening, the sun's last rays disappearing with practiced bravado.

A minute later, he aggressively jabbed his finger on his touchscreen phone and scrolled through his contact list, hunting for a particular name. He finds it. Joel.

He pressed the phone to his ear, and waited. It rang four times, much too long for his liking, and Joel barely managed to drone out a dull and bored sounding 'Hello?' before Michael was ranting.

"They were in my house!" He shouted down the phone, his voice almost drowning out the surprised sound that wrenched free of Joel's throat. "Fucking assholes were in my fucking house!"

"What? Joel sounded awake now, less bored and utterly bewildered. "Who? What?"

"Someone's fucking broken into my house and fucking trashed it. They've smashed my shit up and stolen photos and stuff." He dragged his hand down his face, roughly, catching his lip on his hand. His nails claw into his own cheek. "Joel, they've turned the whole place upside down and everything's fucking ruined."

There was a rustling on the other end of the line, as if Joel was sitting up in bed. "Right, okay." He sounded harried and stressed, but in that moment, Michael had no sympathy. "I need to ask you some questions. What exactly have they taken and destroyed?"

He told Joel everything- about the missing photo frames, the intruder's search for personal information, the laptop, the windows. Joel listened intently, raptly, never interrupting once. For that, Michael was grateful. Once Michael took a breath and tried not to choke, Joel knew he was done. "All the photos were of a specific person?"

"All members of the gang." Michael avoided the question artfully, he thought, and if Joel picked up on it he decided not to probe. "They were searching for something, I think, maybe something they thought I had. Pillows were cut open and shit."

"Right." Joel's voice was low and quiet, the words coming slowly as if he were deep in thought. Michael knew he had the habit of chewing when he thought, his main victims being his over sized hoodies, pens or the skin around his blunt nails. "Okay, that's good. We have an idea of who might have done this, then. Do you know when they could have done it? Just to narrow it down?"

"Uh," Thinking was hard. The haze was still there, clouding his thoughts, making it impossible to tell left from right, up from down. "At some point within the last thirty hours, I think. I had a fight for Geoff, then I went to the hospital to visit Gavin and I only just got back."

"Right." Joel paused for a moment, and Michael could hear the faint sound of scribbling. "Okay, got it. We'll deal with it. Have you got anywhere to stay for a while?"

He wracked his brain for a long while, 'um'ing and 'ah'ing, and he could tell he was getting on Joel's nerves. "I don't know, I suppose I could stay with Gav and Dan for a while." Joel hummed his agreement.

"Do that. If this was done by this other gang than this might take a while. Talk to you later." Then, he hung up.

Rude.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Michael knocked on the door heavily, more times than was strictly necessary, and sunk his teeth into his lip as he waited. He had been on edge the entire journey to his boyfriend's apartment, keeping an eye out for people tailing him, taking several different streets to avoid certain places he knew as crime hot spots and to throw off anyone who had perhaps memorized his route. He walked in the artificial street light always, constantly aware of his steps. He felt silly and stupid- but he preferred feeling like the most paranoid motherfucker in the world than being jumped in a dark street and potentially mugged and left for dead.

He was still cautious now. He found himself taking the elevator instead of the stairs as usual- it was much too easy to be cornered on a stairwell- and he glanced down the hallway as he waited for the door to be answered, watching for people who might be watching him in turn. Gavin's apartment was much nicer than his, with significantly less freelance drug dealers, but he supposed old habits died hard.

He was ripped from his thoughts by the door swinging open in front of him, and he turned to find Dan peering at him, somewhat suspiciously. He squinted his eyes and watched him for a long second- then he opened the door and stepped back.

"You're late." He noted, letting Michael step inside.

"I took a longer route." He spoke truthfully, making sure to wipe his feet on the welcome mat. He shed his coat quickly and hung it up. "So people would get confused if I were being followed."

"Ah. Clever." Dan grinned at him. Michael toed off his shoes carefully, tucking them away next to the door, saying nothing. He walked down the hallway, stretching, feeling his shirt ride up. He yawned, long and loud. The carpet was soft under his bare feet, not like his own, worn and wearing away.

He walked down, walking past the bathroom to enter the kitchen. He took a seat at the counter, hopping up, and leaning his elbows on the polished marble. He held his face in his hands, struggling to take in everything that had happened this night. "I'm fucking exhausted." He realized. His legs ached. His shoulders felt impossibly tense. His back was still screaming in pain, but he still remained hunched over the counter simply because he couldn't be bothered to move. Usually, after days like this, Gavin would give him a massage, and afterwards they would do other, equally as intimate things- but he wasn't here, and Michael hated it.

"Go to bed, then." Dan said, close to his ear. He stood on the opposite side of the counter, and Michael felt quite alike a drunk customer ranting to a bartender about his problems. He had done that a few times in his life. He usually got thrown out afterwards.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep," He confessed. "With what happened to Gavin and my apartment, and all."

"You'll be fine." Dan smiled, and Michael immediately felt reassured. His face was kinder when he smiled, softer, sweeter. And if anyone ended up breaking in, Dan could probably easily fend them off with a broken arm. "Gavin'll be alright and I'll be here while you sleep. I don't mind staying awake. I have TV to catch up on, anyway."

Michael groaned still, utterly unwilling to move. The counter was cold and uncomfortable against his elbows, too hard for comfort. "I'm just worried."

"Me too." Dan pushed himself off the counter and headed for the fridge. Michael ran his hand through his hair as Dan fished out a beer for himself- and shook his head when Dan made the silent gesture of 'want one?' He was majorly impressed and mildy terrified when Dan popped the lid with his teeth, but Dan spoke up before Michael could comment. "I heard that before the gang tried to attack Geoff was intending to offer them some of his own men as a peace offering." Dan breached the topic carefully, watching him with wary eyes. Michael frowned at him. "Those people would report back to him and take the group down from the inside without violence."

The boxer tilted his head to the side, his frown only scarring him deeper. "Which men?"

"Ray. Joel. Lindsay." Dan paused for a few brief seconds. "Gavin."

Michael's jaw slacked. "You're fucking kidding me."

Dan shrugged, taking a long gulp of his beer while he did. "They were probably the best group. Ray's the friendly one, he could charm them. Joel's the fairly freaky but intelligent one. Lindsay's amazing, enough said, and Gavin's the intelligent charmer. Linds and Ray are the only fighters, but he didn't want them to fight. It was the perfect team, really."

"Bullshit." Michael spat. He sat up, the anger infusing him. "There's no fucking way he's doing that."

"Well, not anymore. Not after what's happened." Dan reminded him, and Michael simmered down, settling back in his seat. His mind was running a million miles an hour. What else is Geoff keeping from me?

"I wanted to apologize." Dan suddenly spoke up, and Michael sat up, propping his chin on the counter. He didn't say a word, only sending him a confused glance. "For yesterday. Shouting at you, and all that. I was a right tit."

Michael snorted dismissively. "It's fine."

"Nah, it wasn't fair on you. Or Ray." Dan hung his head, and Michael swore he saw a mild pout form on his lips. "I'm sorry Michael. I know Gavin would have gutted me if he were awake, and it was the wrong thing to say.”

“It’s forgotten.” Michael flashed him a reassuring smile, and Dan returned it after a second’s hesitation. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” He sat up, lifting his hands far above his head and stretching, feeling his tense muscles pull. "To be honest, I just want to curl into a ball and sleep for the next year." He complained bitterly, finally dropping his arms and shifting out of his seat. He slid himself down to the floor, listening to Dan's chuckles.

"Then go. I'm fairly sure you know where Gavin's bedroom is." He said with a wink, and Michael was sure to flip him off before he slunk out of the room.

His sleep was admittedly uneasy, plagued with bad dreams, but otherwise undisturbed.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Early the next morning, the kind of hour Michael would only be awake and dressed for someone he loved very much- everyone else could get fucked- both he and Dan were back at the hospital. They had gotten lost several times, taking wrong turnings or asking a patient who clearly didn’t know what the hell they were talking about for directions, bickering like children the whole way there- but they got there eventually, likely due to sheer dumb luck. They followed the familiar hallways, rooms and signs they both recognised, and eventually spotted Jack at the end of the long corridor that housed Gavin’s room.

“We’re not telling Gavin about what happened to my apartment. I don’t want to worry him.” Michael told him as they headed down, his voice hushed. Dan looked about ready to argue- but he thought about it, and eventually he sighed, nodding.

“We won’t.” He agreed. “But it’s your arse on the line, not mine.”

Jack didn’t look surprised to see either of them, at all.  He grunted in greeting, looking Michael up and down.

Jack momentarily stopped Michael with a hand splayed on his chest, and looked down at him, his expression unreadable. "He's awake." He informed him, quite casually. He removed his hand quickly, and Michael pushed past, entering without knocking. He didn't see Dan and Jack squaring each other up, exchanging suspicious looks.

Ray looked up as he walked in, caught mid laugh over something Gavin had said, and his beaming grin only served to widen when he spotted the two men. "Michael, Dan!" He called over, and Michael watched as Gavin jumped in his bed, turning his head to stare. A smile equally as wide as Ray's bloomed, as bright as the sun. "We didn't expect you here so early." There was an extra seat pulled towards the bed, probably for Jack, and after sparing Dan a glance and seeing his nod, Michael took it, drawing it up next to Ray. Dan stood opposite them, on Gavin's other side. Gavin clearly wasn't sure who to look at first, dithering a little.

"I wanted to see my boy." Michael said airily, waving Ray's comment away. "How are you feeling?"

"I got my first taste of how I would feel if I don't take my drugs when I get out of here." Gavin announced, his voice sarcastically bright and chipper. "It was tippy toppers." He shrugged. "Otherwise, I'm fine."

"Glad to hear it," Michael began to say, but he only managed to say 'glad to' before Gavin cut across him.

"Although," He recalled, and his face abruptly darkened. "I'd love to know why I have guards."

Ray shifted in his seat, sliding down, and groaned. "Gavin, we've been through this a thousand times."

Gavin served him a mighty glare, one Michael had been on the receiving end of too many times. It was a cold, unfriendly expression, so unlike the man's usual smiles. "But it still doesn't make sense." He argued back. "I don't need guards, why would they come back and risk getting caught in a public place just to kill me? That's stupid."

"Well, these guys don't seem to be awfully intelligent so far." Dan reminded him, and Gavin turned his head to stare him down. "They got two of their own men killed just so they could injure one. And they pissed off Geoff. And me and Michael. Hardly the smartest of moves."

"Yeah," Gavin allowed. "But-"

"No buts." Michael interrupted, his voice firm. "They're staying here with you."

"But they could be out and catching the people who did this."

"No." Michael and Dan both stressed, at the exact same time. Gavin blinked at them. "They're staying.”

Gavin's expression turned sour, and he turned his head away, glaring down at his sheet-covered knees. "Fine." He spat sulkily, refusing to look at either of them. Michael wasn’t too effected- he had been a victim of Gavin’s moping sessions dozens of times before. “When am I getting out of here?”

“No idea.”” Ray shrugged, his expression twisting. “Hopefully soon, but I suppose it’s when the doctor’s will be happy releasing you.”

Gavin’s lips quirked in bitter smile. “So, probably never?” He snorted when Ray’s only response was to shrug and hold his hands up in a ‘I don’t fucking know’ gesture. “Brilliant. Trapped in here with nothing to do. Sounds perfect.”

“You can come home with me and Michael when you’re out.” Dan spoke up, warm and reassuring. Michael hoped his lover would be appeased by that. He smiled down at his old friend, rambunctiously. “Just no play fights or other,” He spared a glance at Michael, “strenuous activities for a while.”

Instead of smiling, Gavin looked up, his brows furrowed with confusion. Michael thought for a second that he was going to scold Dan for the obvious innuendo that made everyone else in the room either smirk or blush, but unfortunately, they had both forgotten, not for the first time, just how clever Gavin Free was. “Go home with you and Michael?”

Michael swallowed a curse, and he saw Dan jump to attention in his peripheral vision. “I- that is… I mean,” Dan stuttered for a suspicious few seconds, clearly unsure of how to get out the hole he had suddenly dug himself into, his face flushing a light pink. “Michael’s going to be staying with us for a while, I mean, he’s going to be coming over and checking on you anyway, so he might as well stay with us, right?”

The confusion abruptly disappeared, and was replaced with excitement and joy. “Yeah, it makes sense.” He said, and Michael almost deflated with relief. “I can’t wait to come home now.”

“Now Michael’s there? Gee, thanks.” Dan spoke dryly.

“Uh,” Ray interrupted the three, his voice loud and laced with bewilderment. “Strenuous activities with Michael?”

The relief was immediately replaced with ire, and Michael held his face in both of his hands as Gavin groaned, long and loud, and Dan swore, his voice reverberating in the hospital room. “For God’s sake.” The boxer rumbled. “Goddamnit, Dan!”

“I’m so sorry.” He had the good grace to sound embarrassed, and when Michael dared to look up his face was flushed red, and he had leant back, also holding his head in his hands. “Fuck, I’m such an idiot.”

Ray was laughing, watching the incensed and irritated reactions of the people around him. Gavin still sat in his hospital bed, helpless, his expression mostly playfully angry. “Goddamnit, Dan.” He mimicked Michael, growing, but he was clearly repressing laughter.

“If it helps,” Ray called out over Dan’s curses. “I was kind of getting the idea already, you just told me straight.”

“Brilliant.” Michael said, his voice dry. “Because we really want more people to know what was supposed to be a fucking secret.”

“Well, you’re not exactly brilliant at keeping it covered up yourself. I kinda got the idea you were banging when you spent the night here, had to basically get kicked out by Geoff, and then turned up ridiculously early today.” Ray grinned, his smile a little teasing. “So don’t have a whine at Dan.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Okay, let’s move on.” He cut at the air with a hand, calling for quiet. He didn’t get it.

“Nah, I wanna hear more.” Ray interrupted, sitting up. He grinned wolfishly down at Gavin. “Tell me all about your first date. Did he pull out your chair? Pay for the meal? Give you roses? If he didn’t give you roses, you should dump him.” Then, he pulled a face. “I don’t want to know about the sex, though. There are some things you shouldn’t talk about.”

“Ray.” Michael’s voice was exasperated, and he hated the way his cheeks burnt and blazed with embarrassment. Gavin was laughing, shamefully shameless.

There was a knock at the door, barely noticeable over the noise of their voices, and everyone immediately fell silent.

Everyone in the room reacted at once. Ray sat up straight, his back against the chair rest, narrowing his eyes at the door. Dan turned towards the door and crossed his arms against his chest, trying to intimidate whoever would enter, filling the room with his dark presence. Gavin pulled the sheet up over his waist again, keeping his hands on his lap, trying to look like he hadn’t just been mucking around with his rambunctious friends, and Michael gravitated towards him, pulling his chair closer, ready to defend him. He knew Jack would never have let them past if they were a threat or a stranger, and if he was attacked they would have heard- but he was still dangerously on edge.

The door opened, creaking a little- and they saw who it was, and abruptly relaxed.

The doctor was a very tall woman, standing at tall as Dan in flat, practical shoes. Her eyes were warm and she smiled easily, but she was carefully distant like the others, utterly professional. Michael recognized her- she had entered now and again to check on Gavin while he was there, always while the injured man was sleeping. She stepped up to the end of Gavin's bed, nodding at each of his guests in turn. "Hello." She began. "I'm Doctor McEwan. I've been visiting you now and again, but you've been out cold every single time." She lent her hands on the edge of the bed posts, locking her eyes to Gavin's. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." Gavin gave her that incredible smile, flashing pearly white teeth and laughter lines. It was a charming smile, one that almost always made every woman swoon and melt. Michael waited for McEwan's eyes to glaze over in that way they always did in response- and to Michael's eternal surprise, they didn't. Instead, she arched her dark eyebrows and simply noncommittally hummed. Dan bit back a chortle and even Gavin seemed stunned, but he covered it up quickly, dimming the smile a little..

"That's good." She mused. She consulted the chart at the end of Gavin's bed- Michael had peered at it the morning before, but it was all nonsense to him- and scanned it. "Well, it's all fine, then. But I'll have to ask all of your friends here to leave."

Michael's head snapped up at the same time Dan made a sound of protest. "What?"

McEwan didn't react, as if she were expecting an argument. She turned her gaze to Michael. "I can allow two of you to wait outside and enter again when I'm done, but the rest of you will have to go." She said firmly, her tone strictly nonsense. "We're going to ask some questions. Mandatory questions."

"What kind of questions?" Gavin frowned, his expression tense and his words terse. He was suspicious, and rightly so.

"About what happened to you." The doctor said. "I'm afraid wounds like these can't be brushed off and avoided." Her fingers drummed against the clipboard. “It’s a legal thing.”

Michael turned to Ray, panic flaring- but the other man seemed completely relaxed, perfectly at ease. “That’s fine.” He told the doctor, and she smiled, pleased at the cooperation. He patted Gavin’s knee lightly, careful not to injure his wounded thigh, and climbed out of his seat, heading for the door. Dan and Michael both lingered a little, apprehensive, sharing a glance- but Gavin smiled, and waved them away.

“Leave me alone, you plebs.” He told them. “I have to speak to the lovely doctor.” Michael spared her a glance, and her expression was still mirthless. “Ray and Jack are probably staying, so I’ll see you two later.” His lips quirked once. “I love you, Michael.”

The smile didn’t work on the doctor, but it certainly worked on him. He felt like he was going to melt into a little heated puddle. “I love you too.” He said, before Dan firmly grasped his bicep and pulled him out of the room, shutting the door carefully and firmly.

Jack and Ray both turned to stare at him, their eyes hard, and Michael prayed that Ray hadn’t told Jack. The man was still as unfeeling as ever, and he didn’t seem to look at the boxer any differently. But Michael was more concerned with Gavin, still gazing at the closed door. he supposed he knew what Ray meant when he said he had made their relationship painfully obvious.

“Michael, I’ll walk you down to the street. You too, Dan.” Ray jerked his head down the hallway. “Jack and I are staying as,” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “bodyguards, so you two will have to go. You can make a welcome back party for Gavin or some shit, bake him a cake, I don’t know.”

Dan nodded in silent agreement, despite the fact his face was creased with equal concern, but Michael continued to linger. “Will he be okay?”

“Jack will be waiting outside while we’re gone.” Ray reassured him. “He’ll be fine.” He parted from Jack with a nod, and headed down the hallway, the two men following uncertainly and unwillingly at his heels.

"Don't worry." Ray assured him as they stepped out into the stairwell. His voice was hushed and he spoke carefully, making sure his voice didn't echo. "Geoff and I made a cover up together. Gavin's been briefed. He knows what to say to keep them happy."

It didn’t comfort him much. He frowned down at his own feet, as if guiltily. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving him.”

“I get you.” Dan said, walking immediately at his right. “But the doctor’s boss, and we’ve got our own stuff to do. We need to go back to your apartment and grab some spare clothes- and I want to have a look at the damage, and what exactly has been taken.”

“Okay,” Michael nodded as they descended, coming out into a maze of shockingly white hallways, following the signs to find their way back. “We’ll go now.”

He hoped there wasn’t going to be any more sudden revelations. With the week he had had, he didn’t think any of them could take it.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

They got into the apartment building with no difficulty, as was expected. Michael felt a little embarrassed at having Dan see the inside of it, exactly how he was when Gavin first came over to his apartment- it didn’t look too awful from the outside, with a surprisingly neat exterior, new fresh paint and no shattered windows. Yet. Michael would give it a week before stupid kids would come along and scrawl offensive messages and their ridiculous street names all over the wall again. They always did.

The inside was very different- the heating was never on, so stepping in front outside was like stepping from an Australian summer into a Russian winter. Several of the lights were broken- either deliberately smashed or blown, and glass still littered the floor. There were empty bottles of all different kinds of cheap beer littering the tiled, dirty floor, alongside plastic bags and packets of crisps and newspapers. It was like that on every floor, but it was worse on the first. Michael himself lived up in the fourth floor.

Dan didn’t say anything about it- he didn’t say much- but he supposed that was him just being polite, just like Gavin. But Michael vividly recalled that the first time Gavin came round he was more interested than seeing Michael sprawled naked on his bed then anything else, so it was very different with Dan following him instead.

As they entered, shutting the door behind them to stop any more unsavoury characters than they already had sneaking in, Michael’s landlord was there, standing not too far from his own apartment door. He wasn’t doing anything, just standing there, swaying gently. His face was ruddy and thick, and his nose was covered in broken veins. Michael huffed silently, and Dan stared. “He’s probably drunk again,” Michael murmured to him, quietly so the other wouldn’t hear. He didn’t quite fancy getting evicted, even if his rooms were in a state. “Don’t worry about him. He won’t stop us.”

They past him, their shoes crunching on the glass and splashing in a small puddle of some liquid neither of them want to identify. They made their way up the hall and the landlord never said a word, although he eyed them carefully as they went by. Dan, a stranger to him, was a particular focus for his ire. They passed scratched and old doors, stepping past a scrawny old cat despite the fact pets were not allowed in the building, and heading for the elevator. At the time they arrived, it was already waiting from them. Michael pressed a button and the doors gradually opened, almost unwillingly.

Michael stepped into the elevator, suddenly hyper-aware of the stench of illegal substances and urine. Dan followed him, wrinkling his nose, lingering in the middle of the elevator as if scared he would stick to the sides. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets.

Michael pressed the button for the fourth floor, letting the door not so smoothly slide shut. The elevator announced it’s intention to lift, and it did, juddering a little and moving unbearably slowly. He crossed his arms against his chest, tapping his foot, unbearably thankful that they didn’t have to go too far up in the stifling silence.

It was eventually broken, anyway. When the horrifically slow elevator eventually reached the second floor with a soft chime, Dan spoke up. “I think you should just move in with Gavin and I.” He said, attempting to be casual. He didn’t insult the look of the apartment, but Michael knew what he meant. Dan flashed his teeth in a grin. “I probably won’t get sick of you too quickly, and I know Gavin will like having you there.”

“I couldn’t.” Michael replied, appreciating the gesture and wishing he could say yes, but he knew for a fact there was barely enough room for the three of them, and tempers would rise, and there would be a murder by the end of the week. “It’s kind of you to offer, but I couldn’t take you up on it.” The elevator announced that it had reached the third floor, and Michael willed it to hurry up. He wondered what his apartment looked like, and if his neighbors and landlord were aware of what had happened. The landlord was too drunk to function, clearly, and the couple to the left were probably high at the time. The old woman who lived on the right was incredibly nosy and shrewd, but was terribly forgetful. Michael never concerned himself with anyone else on his floor.

“We can talk to Gavin about it when he gets out.” Dan offered. He saw the expression on Michael’s face, and continued. “We don’t have to tell him what happened. We could say you had an argument with your landlord and you got evicted.”

That made sense, Michael thought, and it wouldn’t raise too many questions. He thought about it as the elevator rose, and tilted his head to one side.

“Maybe.” He said slowly as if testing the words in his mouth, and went to continue before the elevator’s doors opened, chiming again, and Michael saw something horrifically familiar standing up the hallway. “Fuck!” He hissed, and darted to one side, hiding himself from view. Dan blinked at him, caught off guard, and turned to witness what Michael had seen. His eyes widened, and he blanched, jumping opposite Michael to hide himself.

There were police practically swarming along the hallway, and it was a miracle neither men were seen. Michael poked his head around the door, peeking at them. He counted the doors all the way up, and a majority of them were peering at the sixth door- and Michael’s stomach dropped, knowing it as his apartment. There were officers with cameras, likely taking photos of the mess inside and the damage on the front door, and a few officers even clutched Michael’s personal objects- one held his laptop under one arm, and another pawed through his address book.

The nosy old woman from next door was standing outside her door, wearing a dressing gown at least two sizes too big for her, clutching a hot water bottle. She was talking to the officers- ratting him out or just complaining about him, his thought bitterly- and they were jotting down what she said into little notebooks.

“What the fuck?” Dan hissed, and he hit the button for the ground floor again, and the doors shut. He stared at the door as if they could still see the police sniffing around, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. “What the hell are the police doing there?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Michael joined him, confusion making his temples ache. He shot Dan a glance, and they shared a moment of utter bewilderment. “I locked the door behind me when I left and tried to cover up the windows as best I could- I don’t think my neighbours called the police.”

“Who could it have been?” The passed the second floor again. “Who knew?”

Michael thought for a long moment, building a list of suspects, built of familiar names and strangers. He ended up with only two possibilities. “It must have been either someone in our gang- Joel, or someone, I don’t know, or it was the other gang. I don’t know, maybe they thought they police would catch me or something.” He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, and the doors opened on the first floor. He stepped out from the cramped confines of the elevator, needing fresher air. As fresh as he could get in that building. “God, this is fucking bullshit. What the hell are we going to do now?”

“Well, you’re obviously not staying here and you can’t go back and get your stuff.” Dan told him, and his tone allowed no argument otherwise. “The police are probably looking for you, and Geoff definitely won’t have the time to sort it out for you now.” He grabbed ahold of Michael’s forearm, yanking him forward. “Let’s get out of here. You can borrow some of mine or Gavin’s clothes.”

“Don’t tell Gavin.” He said again, letting himself get pulled back down the hallway. “I don’t want him to know.”

Dan shot him a look that Michael would have mistaken for dissapointed if he didn’t know any better. “Michael.” He started.

“Please.” The boxer lowed his voice as they passed his landlord again, who hadn’t moved a muscle. He stared at them blearily, as if not quite recognising that they were there. “Dan, please, I don’t want to worry him.”

“That’s stupid. Yeah, B will worry, but he needs to know about this.” He argued. But Michael pulled an expression that made him seem as pathetic as possible, just a little bit short of comically exaggerated, pushing out his lower lip and making his eyes wider, and Dan sighed, running a hand through his short hair.

“Fine.” He spat back as they exited the building hurriedly, the winds of winter caressing their skin. “But if he finds out, I didn’t know shit, yeah?”

Michael nodded, nothing short of thankful. “Thank you.” He spoke hastily, and Dan’s only reply was a dismissive grunt. Michael could taste the winter on his tongue, and spring was nowhere in sight. The terrible wind seemed to continue on for eternity.

He wondered if his life was ever going to return to normal.

Probably not.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

He was allowed to pick Gavin up the next day, and after he was awoken by a text from Jack that told him so he rushed out of the door in his excitement, his shirt only half buttoned and his hair a rampant, uncombed mess. Dan had elected to stay behind, but he made the copper haired man promise that he would bring Gavin straight home. Michael called a cab to the hospital eager to get there as soon as was physically possible.

He found Gavin already at the receptionist's counter, towering over it with Ray pressed close to his side. They faced away from him, but Michael called out to them. Everyone in the waiting room looked up at the sound of his call, peering at him nosily, but he made his way through the small crowd that had gathered, pushing through with no apologies.

Gavin immediately turned at the sound of his voice, gazing out at him. Michael had enough time to notice that the white padding was gone from his face and to see his vibrant eyes widen with panic before he turned his head away again. Ray turned to look too, and instead grinned, waving him over.

When the boxer stood by his side, he said, "We're just signing him out now. Are you taking him back home?"

Michael nodded, gazing over towards the secretary. It was a woman today with long blonde hair, a serious look in her eyes. She was scrawling something onto a form, just below what looked like Gavin's mess of a signature. "Yeah. Gotta rush him back. Dan'll have my head if I don't."

Ray aww'd quietly, turning to face Gavin. "Hear that, Vav? Your B wants you home."

Gavin shifted where he stood, gazing purposely down at the counter, and for a moment Michael thought he wasn't going to budge. Then he hummed, uncommittedly saying a quiet 'yeah' before he looked up. Gavin looked at Michael clearly unwillingly, uncertainly, and Michael immediately saw what was wrong.

Several short and thin lines marred Gavin's once flawless and smooth cheek. They had all closed and healed, but they were still bright, obviously standing out against his tanned skin. Michael could see that his throat was clear of scratches, but he saw that just above the collar of the shirt the hospital had given him there was another line, deeper and thicker. He wondered just how far down Gavin's lean body it went, and his mouth went dry as he wondered if Gavin would let him trail his tongue down the line.

He would probably refuse. He was clearly self conscious- he stared down at the ground to hide them from view, rubbing his cheek furiously, as if trying to rub them away like stains. He repeatedly tried to tug the collar up higher, to no avail. It always slipped back down.

Michael wouldn't let him feel that way. He reached forward, grasping his lover by the hips, careful to not knock a bag he had slung over his shoulders, pulling him away from the desk and towards him. "Hey, you." He greeted him, making sure his smile was uncharacteristically- almost painfully- sunny. "You're a free man, now." He lent forward, lifting himself on his tiptoes a little to press a brief and chaste kiss to his lips, soft and gentle. "How does that feel?"

"Pretty tippy top." He barely managed a clearly fake smile, and the man squirmed in front of him, averting his eyes, his hand still on his cheek. "Looking forward to not being trapped in bed all day."

Michael hummed, his face warping into a devilish grin and he winked even though Gavin never saw it. "Well, it's a good thing you're injured. Or you would be trapped in bed all day." His voice was a gentle rumble and purr, and Gavin immediately squawked and flushed a shocking, bright red. Ray had the good manners to pretend not too hear. Meanwhile, a majority of the people in the waiting area stared and he even heard a sound of disgust- that was Texas for you, he supposed- but he ignored it in favor of his lover. "You don't look any worse for wear." Michael told him, his voice a little firm. "You look gorgeous."

Gavin looked nothing short of morose. "These are probably going to scar." He said, lifting his hand and prodding at the skin of his face. His jabs were harsh and looked painful. Michael reached up his own hand and grabbed his, drawing it away. The corners of the boxer's lips curled up into a sly smile.

"Good." He purred. Gavin frowned at him, almost pulling his hand away, but Michael never gave him the time. "I've always had a thing for men with scars."

Gavin's blush only increased, and he looked rather like a tomato. He opened his mouth, likely only to make a bunch of stupid noises that would never pass for English, but Ray cut across them.

"Right, you two." Ray commanded their attention, sounding exhausted by their antics already. "Gavin is officially as free as a bird." He planted his hands on his hips, and stared at Michael, his expression severe. "Take him home and don't break him. Gavin's already got his meds, so no worries there."

"Good, now I can take care of you properly." I can protect you, he thought. A nasty part of him wondered who he needed protecting from- this other gang, or Geoff. He watched as Gavin smiled, his lips pulling at his cheeks, making the scratch marred cheeks shift. His smile was weak and small, as if he knew what it would cause.

"Jack's already gone and I have important shit to do, so you two can leave as soon as you want. If you don't want Dan to rag at you non stop for the rest of your lives, I'd suggest going now." Ray informed them. “But be careful. Gavin’s doped up and shit, but he can’t exert himself. No picking heavy stuff up, no running. You get the idea.”

Michael reached down, lacing his hand with Gavin's. The grip was warm, welcome and familiar, and it brought peace to the gentle anxiety Michael had felt over the past few days. He squeezed the hand gently,a and he felt Gavin's thumb smooth over his knuckles. Neither cared about the stares such an action brought. "We will.

Ray turned and murmured his thanks to the secretary- she offered him a simple nod in exchange before turning back to her work- and the three crossed through the waiting room, narrowly dodging people and avoiding stepping on their toes. They walked together in silence, until they reached the door.

"Stay safe, you two," He said, and with that, Ray quickly pushed past them, and disappeared out the door with one last wave.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Ray jumped, almost skipping down the stone steps to the hospital, taking two down at a time, eager to get out. He never liked hospitals. He had never injured himself to the point of needing to go to one, and he wasn't in a exact hurry to do so. Although, with how things were going recently, he thought he might be stuck in one of those cold empty rooms soon. Or dead. He wasn't sure which he preferred.

He shuddered at the thought of either, despite the warm sunlight lightly toasting his skin. He carefully stepped out of the way of a man in a wheelchair who was being pushed by what looked like his son and stepped down onto the pavement, turning his head, scanning the area.

He wasn't to be seen, and Ray frowned a little. The nearby car park was full to bursting, but Ray couldn't see a familiar car, or a familiar head towering over them. But he supposed it made sense to be careful- they didn't want to be seen together. That would raise questions, the kind that they couldn't answer.

His phone chirped in his pocket at that precise moment in time, a happy, eager sound- and he abruptly halted, standing next to a dark car parked just outside of the hospital. He whipped it out, bring the touch screen to life with a wave of his thumb, and checking the text.

I'm parked outside the chemists a couple of streets away, it read. Know it?

He tapped back a quick and simple answer- yes- and he shoved it away promptly. He kept walking, moving to the edge of the road. It was a slightly perilous crossing, but he managed it, ducking across between a returning ambulance and a plain green car while he had the chance. Someone leaned out of the car and shouted at him, but he ignored it. Coming from New York, he was used to it. The chemist was only about two minutes away at a casual walk- far enough to likely not be seen, but not so far that people would get suspicious at a car with blacked out windows sitting outside a chemists. It was a good choice, Ray thought, clever.

He had a spring to his step as he walked, excited, anticipating, looking forward to the evening he had planned. Things had been crazy, without a doubt, and he felt he needed this break. They both did. They both agreed that if they didn't take this chance now, they likely wouldn't get another one again, not for a long time.

It seemed like it took forever to finally round the corner and see the car across the road, but it wasn't so. He sped up, trying to keep his pace casual, but failing. He crossed the road again, this time not getting abuse hurled at him- he was glad, he would have gotten scolded for it when he sat down for sure- and jogged up to the car. He grasped the handle and pulled it open, quickly, and slid into the passenger seat.

He immediately turned to beam at the driver. He wasn't shy or withdrawn or dishonest around him. He didn't need to be. "Hey, man." He greeted, and he couldn’t withhold his snort of laughter.

Joel rolled his eyes. "Ah, hey man, Heyman, hilarious." He shook his head, his hands reaching up to take the steering wheel. "I hate you so much."

Ray chuckled, and lent over to take Joel's sharp jawline in one hand. He reached forward and pulled him down, and kissed his soft pout away, smiling against his mouth. He smoothed his fingers over his cheek, feeling soft skin under his fingertips. "No, you don't." He corrected him when he pulled away, withdrawing his hand, and Joel twitched his nose at him, pulling a face.

"How can you be so sure?" He shot back, and Ray kissed him once more, sweetly.

"Because you would have killed me by now if I was that annoying." He said brightly, and Joel laughed at that, the sound endearing. It was a rare occurrence, and Ray treasured it when it happened.

"True." His voice dropped down low. He started up the car, the engine rumbling underneath Ray's feet. "Come on, let's go. I want to take you to an alley and murder you, like the other people who made fun of my name."

"Sounds like a plan." Ray replied, laughing under his breath, and after checking the coast was clear Joel pulled away from the kerb. Ray turned his head, gazing out of the window, watching people walk by on the pavement, walking in and out of shops, walking dogs or stopping and having a conversation on the side. He relaxed in the seat, letting all his tension and worries drift away. He was safe with his lover, and that was all the mattered to him.

He felt Joel poke hard at his shoulder, but he saw in the reflection that he kept his eyes trained on the road before him. "You still have my hoodie." He said accusingly, but playfully. A smile had smoothed his face, making him like kinder and much less exhausted.

"I do." He agreed, leaning his head back against the seats headrest and grinning back at him. "But if you want to get it back you're going to have to come home with me, and you know what that means."

Joel rolled his eyes again, shaking his head. "Oh no, to get my hoodie back I have to have sex with you. God, what a chore." He batted at Ray's knees, feeling the skin under his fashionably shredded jeans. "I'll get that thing back from you one day."

"Maybe tonight." Ray mused, and Joel boo'd him quietly.

"Lunch first." He commanded- and then he glanced sideways at the radio, which read the time in glowing red letters. "Well, brunch. Whatever. I'm getting food in your skinny self before I take you home and do all the things I want to you."

Ray purred with satisfaction, stretching his legs out and lounging in his seat. “Good. Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” Joel spoke in a silly voice, half singing the words. Ray groaned and crossed his arms across his chest like a sulking child. “There’s no need for that. I’m not telling you anything.” He shot a glance at him. “Put your seatbelt on.” The Puerto Rican huffed at him, narrowing his eyes and sticking his tongue out childishly. Joel didn’t tempt fate by replying, and Ray reached for the seat belt, buckling up. He looked to his lover for approval- and he nodded, almost patronizingly for his benefit.

Ray turned his head out of the window once more, looking at the shops and homes almost trickling by- as fast as they would ever go. Joel was a painfully slow- careful, he would argue back- driver, always conscious of where he was on the road and how far away his was from other cars. Ray wondered if their brunch would become dinner. They drove in a comfortable, companionable silence. When he first met the older man, he thought they would never get along. They didn’t at first. Ray was too young, too innovative, far too reckless and daring. Joel was meticulous, almost picky, always having to plan things and accurately know their every outcome before he committed an action. They clashed, at one point violently.

Then they became closer, and became friends. And then they became more.

Joel kept driving to their mysterious destination, cutting into the slow lane, and Ray stared out, losing himself in the outside world. It was while he was gazing outside he noticed another car drift across several lanes to cut in a few cars behind them. Odd, he thought, but he thought nothing of it. Neither moved to turn on the radio- it would have just distracted them and grated on their nerves. He glanced into the rearview mirror a few times, taking in the cars behind them, looking out the front window to stare at the cars in front of them. Not having a car of his own, he didn’t have the luxury of a car ride whenever he wanted one. He took advantage of it when he could. He looked into the rear view mirror again.

The car was still following them.

“Joel.” Ray said suddenly, sitting up, his voice deathly serious. He grabbed for Joel’s knee, patting at it desperately to get his attention. He kept his eyes glued on the mirror, watching the car glide along after them, but he heard his companion’s sound of bewilderment. “Joel.”

“What?” He didn’t sound panicked- he never sounded panicked- but he was clearly confused, and Ray could imagine the frown that crossed his face. “Ray, what?”

“There’s a car following us.” He announced, never taking his eyes of it. It was clearly reflected in the mirror- a dark, sleek car, he didn’t know which make, cruising a couple of cars behind them. He had seen that car earlier- when they took the second exit on the roundabout, when they turned to avoid the roadworks, and even when he got into the car originally. He thought back, his thoughts racing, and he felt sick when he thought about when he stopped to answer Joel’s text, and the dark car he stood right next to. Shit, he thought, fear thick in his throat.

Joel immediately sped up, not enough to be noticed by the driver but enough to put a bit more of a distance between them. Ray shot him a glance, and he saw how his jaw had tensed and his lips were pressed firmly, tightly together. He took the next left turn, off of the main road. “Where are we going?”

Joel ignored him. Ray noted the car exited when they did, and his heart skipped a beat. “There’s a gun in the glove box. Get it.”

“Joel-”

“Ray, get the gun.” He grit out between ground teeth, his eyes on his own rearview mirror. “I don’t know who these jack offs are but I really doubt they’re friendly.” He had his foot pressed firmly on the gas, and Ray was fairly sure he was going over the speed limit.

Reluctantly, Ray opened the glove box, and he ignored the way it almost ominously creaked. A gun lay in there, a shitty old .38, and Ray was not in the mood for this bullshit. “Joel,” he tried again. Ray was a good shot, an amazing shot if you would, but he didn’t want to pull a trigger today, no matter how necessary. “Can’t we just try to shake them?”

Joel’s hawkish features were tense, his lips compressed. His knuckles were white as they clutched the steering wheel. “And if we can’t?” His voice was as crisp as freshly fallen autumn leaves. “What then?”

Ray faltered a little, but he still refused to take the gun. He didn’t want that responsibility. “I don’t know- we could call someone-”

“And have a mass shootout? I really doubt we could get a big group of us together and talk out our problems. But no, maybe we can start a bonfire, tell stories. Braid our hair and make smores.” Joel’s voice dripped with venom. Ray hadn’t heard him so sarcastic, so bitter, and it stunned him. “Take the damn gun, Ray.”

He did, with no further arguments. He knew it would be futile. He curled his hand around the smooth metal, finding it cold against the warmth of his palm. Without being prompted, he checked the ammo and the safety- keeping it on, just in case- and found it full. He clutched it with two hands, resting it in his lap, pointing out forward. “Where are we going?” He asked, and his voice was hushed, barely audible over the car’s engine.

“A warehouse.” Joel told him after a moment of deep silence. “An abandoned one, not too far away. If they’re still following us when we get there, we’ll confront them.”

Ray didn’t bother arguing, holding himself stiffly and rubbing a thumb over the barrel. He saw Joel glance at him in the corner of his eye, but the older man said nothing.

It was a tense few minutes, where the only noises were the sound of their breaths and the engine purring beneath their feet. Joel was always spookily quiet when he was concentrating, seemingly forgetting to breathe while Ray fiddled and fussed and sighed, but he knew now wasn’t the time. Ray had little to no idea where they were going- occasionally he caught glimpses of buildings he recognised or saw familiar signs and street names, but Joel was driving down almost empty roads now, and Ray was lost. He didn’t know if the car was still following them, and really, he didn’t want to know.

Then, there were warehouses in the distance, and the road was seemingly utterly abandoned. There were no other buildings or people to be seen, and it set Ray on edge. Joel drove until they were just outside one of them, and Ray took in the sight of it, the huge mass of rusty metal and broken windows. Old tools and hunks of metal had been strewn all over the floor, left haphazardly, and Ray knew that no one had been there in a long time.

The chainlink fence had been broken, cut open, and a long sheet of it had seemingly been stolen. It bore the area, allowing access, and it was big enough that Joel could drive his car straight through it, all the way up to the warehouse door.

He killed the engine abruptly, and the wait began.

They both turned in their seats, staring through the rearview mirror, searching the area for a vehicle- any vehicle. None immediately revealed themselves.

“Ray.” Joel’s sudden words spooked him, making him jolt in the passenger seat. Ray saw him reach out his hand, pale and long fingered, practically skeletal. “Give me the gun. If someone comes, you stay here and I’ll go.”

Ray changed his mind. Instead of holding the gun gingerly, like an explosive about to blow at any given moment, he pulled it closer, practically cradling it to his chest. “No.” He wasn’t letting Joel risk himself like that.

Joel studied him intently. “Give it to me.” He demanded, and Ray fought the instinctive urge to obey. He shook his head, his dark hair flaring into his eyes- and then he found the gun being snatched from his grasp, torn away from him. He snapped out a ‘hey!’ but Joel already had a hand on it, clutching the weapon tightly. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ray reached out again with lightning speed, and Joel barely had time to witness Ray’s blur when the younger man did something to his fingers that made a sharp pain spark up his wrist. Joel hissed and jerked his hands away, inadvertently releasing the gun, and Ray grabbed it back.

“Good thing I kept the safety on,” Ray told him, keeping the weapon away from Joel, and ignored the way his lover glowered at him. They were bickering like children, but they were still on their guard, fully aware of the pressure and the axe that lay over their heads.

They waited, seconds turning to minutes, sand falling from the hourglass, and nothing and no one came.

Ray released a heavy breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Joel rested his elbow against the door and slumped, covering his closed eyes with one hand. His legs sprawled out and his back slid down the chair, no longer caring about keeping an eye out. The gun was still heavy and bitingly cold in Ray’s hand, and he wanted to shove it back into the glove box, lock it up and pretend it was never there, but he couldn’t let it go. His fingers were frozen around it. “What the fuck was that?”

“We need to tell Geoff.” Ray muttered, stumbling over the words that stuck in his throat. “We need to tell him now.” He sucked in a breath and ripped the glove box open, ungracefully dumping the weapon inside. He closed it forcefully, and it slammed so loud he feared he had broken it. He turned to Joel, already reaching in his pocket for his phone. “I’ll-”

Joel reached out suddenly with one hand and brought him in close, and Ray could feel hot, faster than normal breath on his lips before he was kissed, furiously. His companion’s fingers clawed into him, threading through the soft strands of his dark hair, pulling him as close as was physically possible. Ray felt teeth scratch unbearably at his lower lip, and he gasped into Joel’s mouth.

Joel eventually broke away, and he was panting, his face a little flushed and his eyes heavy lidded. His hand fell, and his fingertips traced the line of Ray’s jaw. They sat in almost silence for several long seconds, the only noise the sound of their breath.

“We’re gonna drive back a little, park the car somewhere and walk home, yeah? Then we’ll call Geoff.” Joel prompted, breathlessly, and Ray nodded, uneasily, uncertainly.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Gavin lounged on the sofa, his long legs splayed over Michael’s lap, and the boxer couldn’t do a single thing about it. If it were anyone else, he would have demanded that they move without a seconds hesitation of any amount of guilt- but Gavin had his eyes closed and a small, content smile on his face, and Michael couldn’t bear the thought of snapping at him.

Instead, he smoothed his hand over the bare skin of his ankle, his other hand holding his feet and digging his thumb firmly into the arch in a halfhearted massage. He had been sitting, trapped like that for at least ten minutes, secretly longing to turn on his xbox but not having the heart to ask Gavin to move. The man had been gratifyingly silent the entire time for the first time in the twenty four hours he had been home, and Michael didn’t want to break his streak. Instead, he listened carefully to the sound of Gavin’s soft, shallow breaths, and the sound of Dan and Lindsay's voices across the room.

Michael hoped that Gavin had fallen asleep, because it didn’t sound good.

Dan sat perched at the kitchen counter, his brows furrowed as he stared at his mobile. He had laid it directly in the centre of the counter, and Lindsay’s voice emerged from it, reverberating slightly in the tiled room. He shot Michael a glance as she spoke, pulling a face that seemed to express feelings of ‘well shit’ and Michael pulled it back.

“So they were followed?” Dan leaned over the phone and spoke into it, his voice deliberately loud and clear. Michael kept stroking Gavin’s foot, as if trying to soothe him back into the land of dreams.

“Yup.” Lindsay said the ‘p’ with a low pop, and she sounded exhausted. This seems to be taking a toll on everyone, Michael noted. Everyone he had spoken to recently either looked like they hadn’t slept since the shooting or looked furious or afraid. He supposed it made sense. “As soon as Ray left the hospital he was being followed by some dark car. They couldn’t get the numberplate and neither know the slightest thing about makes of cars, so we basically have no clue who did it or what we’re looking for.”

Dan grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘fucking perfect’ but Michael called out across the room, curiosity blazing. “What were Ray and Joel doing together?”

That was when Gavin spoke up.

“They were working together,” He announced, his voice low, just loud enough for Lindsay to hear if she concentrated. Michael jumped, a little spooked at how suddenly he had spoken. He had opened his eyes, and he turned over to stare in the phone’s general direction. They looked almost vacant, as if deep in thought and not really seeing anything. “They were working on jobs given to us by other gangs and stuff. I suppose it would make sense that they would still be together, considering everything.”

Michael could practically hear Lindsay’s frown over the line. “I thought Geoff would have said something to me about it.” She mused.

Gavin shrugged despite the fact he couldn’t be seen, and squirmed in his seat, kicking out lightly with his feet. Michael hadn’t realised he had relieved the gentle pressure on his lover’s feet, and he made up for lost time with both hands, digging into the arches and sweeping his thumb along the surprisingly soft skin. He grinned at his lover’s purr, before Gavin continued. “I don’t know. Just a theory. ” With that, he fluttered his eyes shut once more.

“Well, Ray told me that Joel was giving him a lift, but I suppose they could have discussed it on the way back. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that they were followed.” There was a low rustling on Lindsay end, the sound of paper fluttering. “Opinion alert, guys,” She said, and she tutted when all of the men groaned, only half sarcastically. “Hey, back off. It’s a good point. Some of us here think these attacks are likely connected- it might be that the people in the car were the ones who hurt Gavin and Jack. It’s totally possible that they were waiting to follow Gavin but decided to follow Ray instead.”

From across the room, Dan grunted his agreement. He had his hand pressed up against the cheek, leaning against the counter, and he appeared to be deep in thought. “It definitely makes sense.”

Lindsay’s laughter rang out across the line. “Thank you, Dan.” She said, almost patronizingly. “It’s a good idea. And considering,” Her voice dropped, and she spoke slowly, as if she was uncertain. “Considering… other events, it does make a lot of sense.” Michael knew she meant his apartment immediately, and he cleared his throat, a little too loud to be convincing. Dan meet his gaze, his expression tight and concerned, but Gavin was lost in his own little private reality. He didn’t make a peep.

“So we have to be more careful,” Dan drummed his fingers on the marble. “Okay. Got it. High alert, and all that.”

“Exactly!” Michael could practically hear Lindsay’s beaming smile. “Business as usual, basically, but keep an eye and ear out for anything suspicious. Monty and I are calling everyone and telling them the exact same thing.” She paused for a split second, taking a breath, but she held it for far too long to be casual. “Michael, could you take me off speakerphone? I need to talk to you.”

Dan and Michael exchanged another look, and the boxer saw Gavin’s eyes flicker open in his peripheral vision. Dan’s shoulders twitched upwards helplessly, jabbing his finger at the whole and making a point of dragging two of his fingers along his throat. If you don’t talk to her, she’ll kill you, he said without speaking, and Michael rolled his eyes. He knew exactly what she wanted to talk about, and if he was honest he just wanted to smash the phone to pieces and set fire to it. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid her.

Michael huffed out a sigh, and tapped two of his fingers repeatedly on Gavin’s ankle. “I need to move, Gavvers.”

The other man growled playfully, the sound emerging from deep within his throat, not moving an inch.  “But I’m comfortable.” He complained, baring his teeth in a grin. His legs only spread further across the sofa, and he shuffled down, getting more comfortable. “I want to keep you here forever.”

Michael pulled a face, sticking his tongue out and his lover, reaching over to flick his nose. He ignored the sounds of Dan faking vomiting across the room, and the sounds of Lindsay's giggles. “I’ll be back in a few,” He promised. “But I need to chat to Lindsay. I’ll be back to rub your feet and be your slave again in a moment.”

Gavin’s smile was lazy, and a little seductive. He shifted his hips, almost drawing Michael’s gaze and pulled his legs up, releasing him. “Hurry back.” He purred so the other two couldn’t hear, and Michael made sure to stroke a sly line up his leg when he leant over to kiss him chastely. He hopped up and crossed the room, snatching up the phone and shooting Dan a look. The other man mouthed ‘good luck’ as Michael turned off speakerphone and put it to his ear, quickly leaving the room. He slipped into Gavin’s bedroom two doors down and shut the door firmly behind him, making sure that his voice wouldn’t carry and he would be heard.

“Lindsay.” He said, and her voice was immediately in his ear.

“I need you to tell Gavin about what happened to your house.” She told him, her voice suddenly uncharacteristically serious, and Michael thudded his head back against the wall, hard, repressing a long irritated groan.

“No.” He replied, firmly, and she made a vicious and mangled sound of frustration and ire. He kept his eyes locked on the closed bedroom door, making sure no one followed him in. He pulled the phone away from his ear for a split second to check that her voice wasn’t leaking through loudly. It wasn’t, and when he put the phone back, Lindsay was ranting.

“For God’s sake, Michael, this isn’t exactly a moment for you to cling to your goddamn pride. This is serious, and Gavin needs to know. This could all be so fucked up if we’re not careful, very careful, and Gavin needs to know everything. He’ll be at risk if he doesn’t.”

“I don’t want him in more trouble,” Michael hissed back at her, kicking himself off the wall to pace around the bedroom. He stepped over the abandoned clothes that were shed the night before and video game cases spread across the carpet, almost nudging and knocking over a half empty can of coke. “Which is exactly what he might be in if he knows my apartment got fucked over.”

“Look, your concern for him is very touching.” She said, her voice saturated with almost acidic sarcasm. “But we don’t have the time or patience for your games and little romance, yeah? Michael, I know you, and I know you want to keep the man you love safe, but if this is all the same person they shot him, for Christ’s sake, and stole pictures of him from your house. He’s already involved- you not telling him shit is like dropping him into a firefight with a pillow.”

“Right, and you’ve really fucking improved my situation.” He bit back, his already loud voice lifting in volume. He managed to catch himself and lower it again, not wanting Gavin of all people to come running. He swallowed down the self righteousness and the bitter fury with some difficulty. “You called the fucking police and had dropped me into a right fuckload of trouble. Cheers for that, by the way.”

He waited for a reply. He didn’t get one. There was a stone cold silence on the other end of the line, and there wasn’t a sound. For a moment, Michael had thought that the call had cut out, or she had hung up on him, and he was about to do the same- but then he heard her light breathing, and locks of her hair rustling against the speaker. “Linds?” He asked, frowning at the sudden silence.

“We didn’t call the police.” She said, her voice thick. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Lindsay.” He snapped, kicking some book that lay in his path out of his way. It slid under the bed, disappearing from sight. A bookmark fell out it, losing the page marked page, but he didn’t care. “I went back for some of my clothes and shit and there were police crawling all over my fucking apartment. I don’t know why the hell you did that, but I bet you anything the police are hunting for me right now.”

“Michael, we didn’t call the police.” Lindsay repeated, her voice loud and clear and urgent. “Why the hell would we do that? We’d have the police on our case, and we’re already struggling to keep everything organized already.” She made another irritated noise, and there was a creak of a chair, and he could see her in his mind’s eye, leaning backwards in her office chair and running a hand through her hair. “Michael, I swear we didn’t.”

“Well, I called Joel as soon as I found it trashed and the next day the police were there. Ask Joel why he did it- or who he told, if someone else had done it.” He huffed loudly, giving the door another sideways glance. It remained shut, but he could hear heavy thudding and loud coming from the living room, as if Dan and Gavin were thumping around together or fighting. It wouldn’t have been the first time. “Lindsay, I’ve gotta go. Go talk to someone else about it. And get it sorted out and cleaned up, because I’m not telling Gavin about it.”

“Michael,” Lindsay only had time to growl before he pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up, cutting her off. He took the time to scrub at his face and whine to himself, giving himself a moment to indulge in his frustration and stress, before leaving the bedroom, shutting the door behind him again. The home phone trilled in his hand again, the caller ID reading ‘Lindsay’ in black block capitals, and he declined the call immediately. It fell silent, and Michael appreciated the quiet- at least, until he wandered back into the living room.

Dan had moved from the connected kitchen- he found him splayed in Michael’s old spot next to Gavin, who was now sitting up, cross legged on the sofa. The television had been switched on and was blaring, shouting across to them, advertising some garish and stupid looking teen drama show by the looks of things. Both men clutched a bottle of beer each, and there was an opened packet of crisps between them. Michael glared directly at Dan, but he was too fascinated by the television to notice. He smoothed his thumb over the plastic cover of the phone, scratching at it with his nail, staring at him with intensely narrowed eyebrows.

“Gavin was sleeping.” He scolded him, putting his hands on his hips. Dan may have been much taller and broader than him, and infinitely more intimidating, but Michael had been told that his presence could fill a room. He liked using that to his benefit.

“Sorry.” Dan murmured, but he clearly wasn’t sorry at all. Gavin shrugged, shoving his hand in the crisp packet and devouring a large handful of crisps. Michael wondered how the apartment had managed to stay so clean with the two men messily stuffing their faces with food and having frankly abysmally unclean bedrooms.

“I was getting bored with sleeping.” Gavin said, his eyes also locked onto the television screen. “I’ve been doing nothing but sleeping recently.” He reached out a hand for Michael, without looking away. “Come back over here.”

Bending to Gavin’s will, unable to deny him, Michael perched himself on the arm of the sofa beside him and laced his fingers with Gavin’s, holding his hand reassuringly. He pressed a kiss to his forehead, smiling against the warm skin. “What did Lindsay want to talk to you about?”

Michael hummed. “Nothing important.” He lied, the words falling from his lips surprisingly easy- he supposed it came easy after practise- and distracted him with a proper kiss. He could taste the beer and the salt from the crisps on his tongue. “You shouldn’t be drinking.” He told him, feeling oddly like a mother with her two young sons home sick from school.

He smoothed Gavin’s hair back, enjoying the softness, baring Gavin’s warm forehead. The man pouted. “It’s just one beer.” He whined. “I won’t drink any more, I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He replied, and shot a dark look at Dan. “Don’t give him anymore.” Dan tried to look innocent, batting his eyes innocently, and the three of them laughed. Gavin shuffled up, pressing his cheek against Michael’s stomach, nuzzling against the warmth. Michael kept running his fingers lazily through his long hair, listening to Gavin’s involuntary rumbling purrs of pleasure.

Something dramatic happened on screen- the adverts had returned to a some action movie Michael vaguely recognised but couldn’t remember the name of, probably something Ray had forced him to watch one of the times he had visited his apartment. There was some kind of chase scene, with all the cliches- people struggling to get out of the way, some kind of hold up, driving through red lights and crashing through cardboard boxes. Michael lost himself in the repetitive scenes for a few long minutes, sitting in silence, feeling Gavin breath against him and barely reacting when the hero took a bullet to the chest.

The peace was shattered by the sound of Gavin’s voice.

“Michael, I was wondering.” The man began with a tired sounding voice, sounding perfectly innocent, and that flared Michael’s suspicion immediately.

“Oh God.” He spoke dryly. “Boy Wonder is wondering.” Gavin thumped him lightly on the chest, pulling a face up at him, and Michael pushed him away, chuckling. “What, Gavvy?”

Gavin pulled away from Michael and settled down in his chair again, his back flat against the back of the sofa, unfolding his legs and stretching them. Michael heard a few of his joints pop, and the injured man let out a breath. “Well,” He began, “I was thinking maybe we should get out of Dan’s hair- you know, let him have his apartment back because really, it’s technically his.” He paused as Dan interrupted to argue, something about the apartment being rightfully Gavin’s, but neither men paid much attention. Dan quickly fell quiet, finishing and returning his gaze to the television. The bad guy seemed to be caught, but the hero was badly injured, apparently. “So I was thinking maybe we should move over to yours? If that’s alright?”

Michael saw Dan shift uncomfortably in the corner of his eye, and Michael forced a thoughtful hum, even though he already knew the answer and was practically screaming it in his head. “I don’t know.” He pretended to seriously consider the idea. “I think it’ll be better if we stay here. We’ll all know where we all are that way, and Geoff can contact us easier. Also, I’m a little worried about getting you back over to my place.” He reached up and ran his hand through Gavin’s hair, scratching a little at his scalp. He knew it was his weak spot- if he rubbed Gavin the right way, gently enough, the man would be putty in his hands.

He watched Gavin’s eyes and intentions both falter, and the man craned his head to let Michael get at a better spot, and the boxer almost grinned victoriously- but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. “There’s too many of us in here.” He argued. “And I can bloody walk, Michael, I haven’t had both of my legs removed.”

Michael kept playing with Gavin’s hair, praying that something would happen to distract him, all the while searching his mind for a decent argument that couldn’t be destroyed. He found a weak one- both Dan and I could care for you easier, and protect you- and decided that it was the best he could do on short notice.

“Gavin,” He started, and then Dan groaned, and ducked down to grab the remote control that had clattered to the floor. He jabbed the off button, and the television suddenly switched off, the screen going black and the main character getting cut off mid sentence. Michael could see their reflections in the dark screen. “I think you should tell him, Michael.”

Gavin stared at Dan, his eyes filled with confusion, before he turned to Michael. “Tell me what?” He asked, and his voice was thick with fear. “What’s happened?”

Michael clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to storm over and punch Dan directly in the face. “There’s nothing to tell.” He gritted out, and it didn’t sound convincing at all despite his best attempts. “Nothing’s happened.” He knew Gavin didn’t believe him, by the sour and betrayed expression on his face.

“Michael.” Both Dan and Gavin said in almost perfect unison, their twin tones irate. Gavin’s eyes were eerily green now, inflamed with anger, and Dan fell silent as his friend continued. “Michael, tell me what’s wrong. Or Dan, you do it. I don’t care, as long as I get the truth.”

“You’re going to want to tell him.” Dan advised, and he was unfairly reasonable. “He’s going to want to hear it from you.”

“Yeah, thanks, asshole.” You dropped me into this, he thought. I’ll remember that next time you need my help. He folded his arms across his stomach, as if defending himself from a physical blow, and sighed. He avoided Gavin’s gaze, feeling his skin prickle uncomfortably under the invisible pressure. “I went home after visiting you from the hospital the other day.” He took the chance to suck in a breath, filling his lungs. “My apartment got broken into and trashed. They were looking for information about us.” He hurriedly tacked on, “I’m sorry.”

His reaction was imminent. Gavin shot up from his seat- and he immediately doubled over and hissed in seemingly excruciating pain, his hand one side of his ribs, the other clinging to the cushion of the sofa. “Fuck!” He spat out, his teeth gritted, his face contorted with pain. Dan jumped alongside him, his eyes huge, and Michael did the same.

“You alright, B?”

“No, I’m not bloody alright!” Gavin snapped, and Dan recoiled, flinching away from his friend and pushing himself to the other side of the sofa. “Michael, what the bloody hell is wrong with you?! Why didn’t you tell me?” Gavin scowled up at him, betrayal and rage written all over his face. He thrust his jaw out, stubborn and overwhelmingly angry. He looked like he wanted to punch Michael in the face himself, and as a self preservation measure Michael got up and took several steps back, making sure he faced Gavin the whole time.

“Gavin,” He tried to begin, his voice soothing, the kind you would use on a frightened child or a feral creature, but Gavin wasn’t having any of it.

“Don’t you even try to charm your way out of this!” Gavin’s rage flared, filling the room to the brim, and Michael winced at the volume of his voice. He hung his head like a child being caught trying to sneak out after their curfew. The usually calm man was on edge, still clutching his side, his breath heavier than usual.

“I think I should go out for a while.” Dan announced quickly, as fast as machine gun fire, and he jumped up and fled before either of them could argue. He almost tripped over his own feet in his desperation. Michael heard him duck into his own bedroom for a split second before he heard the jingle of keys, and eventually the slam of the apartment door. He wished he could have escaped so easily, but the force of Gavin’s glare seemed to pin him down to the floor.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gavin yelled, and Michael was surprised the apartment wasn’t shaking with tremors. “For God’s sake, Michael, what else are you hiding from me?”

“Nothing!” Michael shot back defensively, and Gavin made a sound of disbelief. “Nothing, I swear.” He looked down at Gavin’s hands, now attempting to soothe himself, running patterns into the skin beneath his shirt. The boxer saw how Gavin trembled. “Sit back down, give yourself a rest.”

“Fuck off.” He snapped back furiously. Michael took another step backwards, caught off guard. “I’m sick of being patronized, Michael. I’m injured, I’m not a damn baby.” He reached up, rubbing at his scars, a subconscious and nervous action. “I can’t believe you. When did it happen?”

“A couple of days ago.” Michael told him honestly, and Gavin rolled his eyes and make yet another sound of irritation. “Gavin, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to-”

“Save it.” He snapped. He scratched at his wounded thigh, irritably. “Dan knew, didn’t he?” He didn’t wait for Michael’s hesitant nod. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to bash your bloody heads together, I swear.”

“I made him keep it a secret.” Michael admitted, hanging his head. He wasn’t sure if he felt more guilty about lying, angry at Dan for giving him up or scared of his surprisingly aggressive lover. He supposed it was one big monstrosity, a Frankenstein of all three mixed emotions. “Don’t blame him. He just revealed it, as well, so it’s all my fault.”

“Are you hoping that being all sweet and honest now is going to save you?” Gavin demanded to know. “You’re being very self-sacrificial.”

The accusation stung him, scalding him, and he winced. “I just want to tell the truth.”

“Well, it’s a little that for that, you condescending, patronizing bastard.” He replied stridently, and he leant back comfortably against the sofa, sagging and closing his eyes. He rubbed at his forehead gingerly, as if trying to ward of a migraine.“This is bullshit.” Gavin complained, and Michael felt an acute and abrupt twinge of guilt. “It’s all insane. Everything’s going wrong.” He opened his eyes, and they blazed like fire. “What’s going to happen next? Are aliens going to fall from the fucking sky?”

“I don’t know.” Michael was painfully earnest. “All I know is that I’m sorry.” He reached out a hesitant hand, fighting to stop the trembling. “Forgive me?”

Gavin eyed him, still slumped against the sofa, his expression cautious and disbelieving. He let Michael’s hand hang for several long moments- and eventually sighed, and reached out, grasping it. Relieved, Michael drew it up and clutched it in both hands, kissing his knuckles softly.

“Forgiven, I suppose.” He said, simply, but Michael had a feeling that wasn’t quite the end of it.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

The taste of whiskey was strong in Geoff’s mouth, very nearly overpowering, and his chapped lips were pressed into a firm, thin and increasingly bitter line. His huge hands almost swallowed the small glass he held, filled with alcohol the colour of amber resin. Another glass lay on the table, belonging to Burnie, but it was bone dry, left untouched. Alcohol was the answer to many of life’s problems, both men believed, but Burnie decided that now wasn’t the time.

Geoff was furious, and Burnie liked being on guard when someone as dangerous as him was angry.

Geoff stood behind his desk, occasionally pacing across the length or width of his personal office, his grip tight and his entire body tense. Burnie himself stood stiffly behind his own chair, lingering in the long unbroken silence. He said nothing, did nothing. He simply stood to attention, and waited for his old friend to speak. Unlike others, he feared nothing, and he knew Geoff wouldn’t hurt him. He was awaiting an order, instead. Geoff rarely allowed people into his office. It was like being summoned to the headmaster’s office back in school- it created a spark of terror within you, and the journey there was a kind of walk of shame, with people staring at you, their eyes judgemental, whispering behind their hands. Geoff only ever allowed you in his office if you were in trouble or he wanted to give you an order.

Burnie was never in trouble, and he had only seen the inside of Geoff’s office once. It was a massive room, but it was decorated tastefully, simply and plainly. There was nothing gaudy or impractically about it, unlike most offices- there was no ridiculously expensive art on the walls, or heavy bookshelf lined with books that went unread and only collected dust. Everything served a function. The most ornate thing in the room was probably a letter opener, sharper than was strictly necessary and long, with a shiny silver handle with a deep blue stone, probably a sapphire, set into the hilt. Burnie had seen Geoff use it as a weapon, once. It had taken a long time to wash the misted blood spray from the carpet and walls.

But that didn’t matter now. He waited for Geoff to speak, his posture carefully straight, watching him pace the room.

He watched his boss set the glass down once he had emptied it, the glass hitting the mahogany desk heavily. He winced a little, watching Geoff’s lips twist and nostrils flare.

“I’ve had enough.” He growled, and his low voice resonated within the room. Burnie didn’t move or make a sound, making no sign he had heard him, keeping his gaze low and his expression blank. “These people will not walk all over us.” He grabbed the whisky bottle and poured another generous amount into his glass, almost all the way to the brim. “All over me.”

“They’re stupid.” Burnie agreed, keeping his voice quiet. Geoff grunted in agreement, picking the glass back up, this time only taking an almost delicate sip.

“I want them dead.” He told him pointedly, in a very factual manner, as if he could just click his fingers and his wish would be granted. Not quite, but he knew if he clicked his fingers, his group would snap to attention and get it done, no matter what the cost. “They dare to muscle in on my territory, they can pay the price for such an insult.” He leaned on his desk, placing all of his weight on his arms. He looked his old friend dead in the eye, and repeated with a slow smile, “I want them dead.”

Burnie dipped his head once in affirmative. “War, then?”

Geoff’s smile shifted into something predatory, a clear threat. “War.” He agreed, straightening up.

There was a knock at the door, a confident, almost jaunty series of raps. Geoff looked up with narrowed eyes, glaring at the door like it had personally offended him before sniffing, turning his head up a little. “Come in,” He called across the room, and the door creaked open, light from the hallway outside seeping into the only dimly lighted room. A friendly and familiar faced poked around the door, offering a tentative smile.

Burnie returned it, while Geoff didn’t bother. “Lindsay,” Burnie greeted, turning to her. “Hello. How are you?”

She didn’t enter the room immediately, or even answer- she looked to Geoff, he nodded once. She stepped inside, carefully shutting the door behind her with a click. She held a thick, navy coloured folder in one hand, clutching it close. “Great, thanks. I just needed to give Geoff a message.”

Burnie quirked his head to one side inquisitively, while Geoff failed to react. “Private?” The redhead shook her head and made a noise signifying the exact opposite. She approached the desk and slid the folder across to her boss, making sure not to hand it directly to him. She kept her eyes low.

“It concerns all of us, sir. And our safety.” She told him, and without a moments hesitation, Geoff grabbed it.


	3. soulmate dry your eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song from placebo's 'sleeping with ghosts'

Michael wasn’t stupid, not in the slightest. He could recognise that irritating, repetitive sound anywhere, and he knew Barbara had stopped on her travels to peek into the room. He had listened to the familiar and confident pace of the clip-clop of her high heels, and heard them gradually falter, until they came to a complete halt.

He ignored her. She was no doubt going to say something snarky, or make a stupid pun, and then she would leave him alone again.

He knew it was her, because she was the only one who wore high heels. Lindsay was too much of a practical action girl to wear them, running or jumping being an important part of her job and attack now being a daily risk, and while Kara wasn’t always at such as risk she much preferred flats. If you ever heard high heels down the hallways, it was either Barbara, or the group had been compromised. In Michael’s experience so far, it had always been Barbara, and he supposed he would have been probably shot by now if it was a stranger.

He waited for her to pass, readjusting his gloves on his wrists. His sweat made them slip a little, but there was nothing he could do about that until he deemed himself finished. He fixed them silently, determinedly ignoring the woman he knew was standing in the doorway- and then carefully balanced his weight, keeping the same amount on both legs, then holding his hands up, close to his face as if on the defence. He hopped back, bouncing, swapping between both feet, and struck the punching bag in front of him, letting it bounce off his fist. He maintained a careful distance, never letting it get too far or too close. He knew he was taking too many breaks- in a real fight, you couldn’t rest for ten seconds while you caught your breath or you’d be beaten in moments,, while Michael was taking minute long breaks every so often, spending all of his energy in only a few hits.

He hadn’t been training properly since the shooting, and he was paying for it now. Sweat stung his eyes and his muscles burnt and protested, no longer used to being used so much. His breaths were heavy and laboured, and keeping up was a struggle.

He pushed himself on, ignoring the way his body ached and whined, knowing he needed this practise. He had left Gavin alone with Dan at their home, and he was missing him desperately, finding his worried thoughts turning to him at every opportunity like a parent leaving their child alone for the first night since their birth. He needed to keep himself fit to keep Geoff happy, and to protect Gavin if push came to shove.

And push would almost certainly come to shove.

He steadied his breathing, keeping it calm, still bouncing from foot to foot, planting his fists into the bag in sharp jabs. He alternated between three to six punches at a time, keeping it fast, remaining light on his feet. He kept his hands up, listening to how the chain keeping the bag up rattled with each of his movements.

He ended up going too far, building his tempo too much. His hits got harder and slower, fiercer, and that was his mistake. The energy left him, seeping away, but he was eager to keep practising, and focused more power in his hits. He ended up hitting the bag far too hard, and it was pushed too far- with a creak, the chain snapped, breaking apart, showering Michael with little pieces of metal and dropping the punching bag to the floor. He narrowly avoided having it land directly on his foot.

“Woah!” He heard Barbara exclaim, giggles bubbling from her throat. “Calm down, Captain America.”

Staring at what he had done, he withdrew, standing still with his hands still up. He sighed, exasperated, and his entire body flagged. Now Geoff’s going to be even more pissed at me. Fantastic. He dropped his hands and turned to face her, out of breath and flushed, and he saw her standing in the doorway. She leant against the wall, her arms crossed against her chest and a devious grin on her face. He stared her, a touch dismayed. “Captain America?” He repeated. “Are you joking?”

“Would have preferred a pun?” She asked, smiling all too sweetly for his liking. “About five appropriate ones just popped into my head.” She laughed, the sound as clear as water when he held up his hand, looking distressed.

“Please, no.” He wasn’t in the mood for those. The fatigue plagued him, unwilling to budge, and he gave up, shedding his gloves and dropping them to the floor next to the broken punching bag. He hoped it was fixable, or Geoff would have his hide. Barbara remained silent, but he never heard her footfalls, and he glanced up to find her still standing there. She hadn’t moved a muscle, and she was still watching him, almost appreciatively. He recalled that he was topless and practically dripping in sweat, and hated himself when he blushed furiously, warmth rushing to his cheeks. He scowled across to her. “Can I help you?” He called over.

She shrugged her slim shoulders effortlessly. “No.”

He arched a brow, giving her a gesture of what and why at the same time. “Well, don’t you have potentially life ruining drugs to sell people? Innocent and naive tourists to rob?” She could hear his thinly veiled question, ‘why the hell are you still here?’

She simply laughed again in response, waving it away without a care. That was all she seemed to do. For someone so intelligent and often vindictive, she always seemed content and careless. She smiled a lot, and looked good doing it. Michael could respect that. “I can do without your sass, Michael.” She reminded him, her voice light and airy.

“And I can do without yours.” He shot back. He stepped away from his broken equipment, his feet padding on the plastic padded mat, heading across the gym. He walked to the table that lay against the wall, knowing Barbara was watching him every step of the way. It was covered in little comforts, such as boxes of medicine and bandages, and little pieces of fresh fruit. A bottle of water awaited him there, having grown uncomfortably warm while he worked out, but water was water, and he appreciated the refreshment. He drank most of it down, gulping it, and poured a little into his cupped hand, wetting his sweat damp forehead.

When he wandered back, drying his hand on his exercise shorts, the blonde who still waited spoke up. “You look stressed.” She said, and Michael repressed the urge to roll his eyes. He was stressed. Everyone was, seemingly apart from her and Geoff. “Can I help in any way? Need a friendly ear?”

Slightly caught off guard by the offer, his head snapped up, and he looked at her with consternation. She quirked her head to one side, the smile still there, seemingly perfectly innocent and genuine. When he could gather himself, he forced a smile of his own, and it was fairly convincing, he thought. Someone like Gavin would have fallen for it utterly, but it wasn’t enough to fool someone as shrewd Barbara. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“I think that’s a lie.” She pushed herself off of the doorframe, her movement almost supernaturally fluid and graceful, and she stepped inside the gym. Her eyes swept the area, as if checking for danger, but the idea was absurd. She dropped her eyes back to him. “I don’t think anyone would be fine. Considering every single damn thing that’s happened.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ears. “So you can talk to me- someone who’s pretty distanced from your personal life, very unbiased- or someone else who’s closer to you. Not your family, obviously. Maybe Ray?” Her eyes lit up. “Or Gavin? He’s your friend, right?”

Michael almost barked out a laugh. A little more than that, Barbs, he felt like saying, but he instead shrugged his own shoulders. He planted his hands on his hips, and let her approach. “They have problems of their own.” He said, dismissively. “And I’m fine. We’ll find these guys and kick their asses. No problems.”

Her answering grin was wolfish, sharp toothed. “We certainly will.” But she crossed her arms again, and frowned softly. Her hair shone under the light. “How’s Gavin doing?” She asked, sounding genuinely concerned. “It’s been about two weeks since he got shot now, right? Is he any better?”

“Mmm.” He said, musing. Gavin had been a lot better- he could stand up now without feeling like a frail pensioner, and he could exert himself more. Michael let him leave the house occasionally, going to the shops or somewhere else close by, but he drew the line at sex- to Gavin’s frustration- and roughhousing with Dan. Michael knew how to be gentle but he didn’t trust himself, and Dan was too rough and relentless at times. “He’s good. Still whining and complaining, as usual, but he’s a lot better.”

“Of course, complaining is Gavin’s thing.” Barbara winked at him, and they shared a laugh together, the sounds intermixing. But it ended too suddenly, and Barbara was on him again, as relentless as ever. “But is there something you want to talk about? Anything bothering you? You seem very tense.”

He was being subtly grilled, and he didn’t like that at all. But he played it off like he didn’t notice, playing the fool, and shrugged. He certainly wasn’t giving away any more vital information- if he could control the damage, he wasn’t going to let anyone else find out about the relationship between him and Gavin. “Nah, I’m cool. I’m just a little worried about getting back into shape for Geoff. I’ve kinda been eating too much junk food lately.”

Barbara laughed again. “I know that problem.” She uncrossed her arms again, this time arranging them on her hips. She backed off, to his relief, the interrogation ending. “We’ll find the fuckers, Michael.” She lowered her voice, murmuring, as someone stomped past their door. The stranger who stormed by didn’t give them a sideways glance. “We’ll fuck them up, quite simply. Geoff’s a man of his word.” She shifted where she stood, her footsteps light, trailing her path along the mat. “He’s good at revenge. Remember when he caught the man who killed Dan’s father? All that blood?”

Michael wasn’t there at the time. That wasn’t his duty, after all. But he remembered the horror stories that were exchanged, the whispers that went around behind Geoff’s back. Dan was there- he was the conductor of the sick little symphony. He never spoke about it, not matter how many times he was asked, but there was always a little glint of satisfaction in his dark eyes, pleasure as he recalled whatever had happened that night. Most people who saw the murderer’s death kept quiet about the whole affair- but somehow, it got leaked, probably over too many drinks in a bar somewhere, and the stories passed around like STD’s.

There was so much blood, the story went, blood and bone and viscera everywhere. He doubted that was true- Geoff may have been that barbaric, possibly, but he didn’t expect the same from Dan. The stories said that when the cleanup crew came in afterwards, several dashed out of the room to vomit and refused to step foot inside again, and a few of them even quit their jobs. Geoff, never to let someone go quite so easily, instead gave them newer jobs in the background. Most of the whispers were unreliable, likely distorted versions of the truth- but when Michael pointed that out to Ray, he only smiled and simply purred ‘The truth is boring.’

Either way, Michael knew what she meant, and he hoped Geoff would show those bastards the same ferocity he showed the man who murdered Dan’s father in cold blood.

But would Gavin take the chance that Dan was offered?

“Yes,” He said, his words slow and thick as the memories played before his eyes and the stories whispered in his ears. “I remember.”

Barbara appeared to notice the shift, and she sighed softly, her eyes calculating. She stared straight at him, her gaze almost pinning him down. She offered him a half smile, only one side of her mouth lazily curling. “Then you know everything Geoff’ll do to them.” She nodded at him, dismissively, and she turned on her heel, her heels clicking. She disappeared around the corner without another word, and the sound of her shoes eventually faded away.

He wasn’t sure if he should have felt comforted or disturbed. Barbara had soothed him with the memory of Dan’s father, and he knew Gavin would be avenged. But it brought back the memory of the gleam in Dan’s eyes, the satisfied smile, and the thought of brutal revenge terrified him.

Gavin was once a passive person, someone fairly sweet and occasionally mild mannered, but something had quite clearly changed, or perhaps warped, and Michael didn’t know how to take it.

He didn’t know much, but the one thing he did know was that he didn’t want Gavin working for Geoff for much longer. But would Geoff simply let him walk free, after so much had happened?

He didn’t think so, somehow.

With a long sigh, he wrapped his arms around the bag carefully, and pulled it up, heaving, intending to find a replacement chain and continue his training, and the gnawing thoughts never left his mind.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

There was nothing good on television, there hadn’t been for days, and Gavin was just about ready to climb the walls with numbing boredom.

He lolled his head to one side, trying to assess exactly where Dan stood over in the hallway without having to move. He craned his neck painfully, feeling like a giraffe by the end of it, but he couldn’t see him anywhere.

Maybe if he got up and made a break for it he could escape. He hadn’t felt the brisk sunlight properly on his skin in days. He hadn’t tasted fresh air. He felt like his lungs were full of dust and spiderwebs, and his legs felt as useless as a newborn foal’s. He wanted freedom, and he would have happily climbed out the window if it wasn’t for his damn thigh.

Dan still was nowhere to be seen, and Gavin took his chance while he still could. He pushed himself up, trying to keep most of his weight off of his injured leg, hobbling just a little. He took a moment to improve his balance, and began his epic quest. He wasn’t exactly taking the One Ring to Mordor, or reclaiming Erebor, but it felt as important to him. He made his way out of the hallway, preparing himself to creep past his bedroom.

He nearly made it, and the front door was in sight, so tantalizingly close- but Dan’s hand poked out of Gavin’s bedroom door, and the wounded man walked straight into it, the palm connecting with his face, flailing a little upon realizing he had been caught. “I don’t think so.” Dan grumbled like a bear, but Gavin could hear his smile. “No escape for you, B.”

Gavin whined, but Dan stepped out into the hallway and shepherded him back into the living room, pushing him back lightly. Gavin was walked backwards, and found himself splayed on the same sofa, again, faced with the dull television. Dan stood in front of him, playfully glaring down, his hands on his hips. “You’re like a new puppy. Constantly trying to explore the house. You need to calm down, Gav.”

“I don’t feel like a puppy. I feel like a kidnapped princess.” He muttered, his expression that of one sucking on a lemon. He crossed arms against his chest, feeling his healing wound pull uncomfortably.

“Does that make me Bowser?” Dan wondered aloud, and Gavin leaned forward and reached to thump him hard on the chest, appreciating his wound for the first time. It meant that his friend couldn’t hit back unless he wanted to face guilt and Michael’s violent wrath, and Dan hit hard. “B, you know Michael doesn’t want you going too far. Especially alone, without someone to protect you.”

“If I hear the word protect one more time, I’m going to start knocking some bloody heads together.” He grumbled, and Dan only snorted in disbelief. “I will!” He insisted, outraged, and Dan took the seat on the sofa next to him, sinking into it and splaying out his legs.

“I get that it’s annoying.” Dan consoled him, shifting on the sofa to face his friend. “But to be fair, Gavin, you were shot. And stabbed.”

“I was wearing a bulletproof vest, like always.” he argued in return. “It was two bloody weeks ago. Can’t I have a little freedom to go outside alone?”

Dan didn’t directly answer his question, which Gavin didn’t appreciate. Instead, Dan arched an eyebrow at him, and brought something up that he prefered to not put much thought into. “Do you remember when we met?” Gavin leaned his head back and rolled his eyes. Give me strength, he thought. He remembered, vividly, and ghost pains wracked his body as he revisited the strong memory. “Do you?”

“Yes. How couldn’t I remember? I got the crap kicked out of me.”

“Exactly. I swooped in to save the day. Batman,” He reminded him with a cheesy grin, and Gavin wanted to die from humiliation. “But still, I saved you there. And that’s what Michael wants me to do. He wants me to keep you safe. From yourself, mostly.”

“Hmm. My hero.” Gavin teased him, for a moment his laughter sweet and genuine. It wasn’t that way for long. “But how do you know I’ll be safe, even with you here? If these guys are really after us all, technically, we’re always in danger.”

Dan shrugged that off, less worried about it than Gavin hoped he would be. “I know a lot of things.” He said simply, and with a noise of aggravation, Gavin finally let it slide. He glared daggers at the television, quickly finding out that the new program that had come on was still shit, and ignored Dan’s presence as much as he could. He hated to sulk, but he was bored stiff, and didn’t want to be.

“I know you’re more affected than you know.” Dan said randomly, his voice uncharacteristically serious. Gavin still ignored him, despite the fact he wanted to ask what the hell he thought he meant by that. He lost himself in some garish teenage drama, watching two boys he didn’t care about get into a fist fight over some girl he also didn’t care about, and waited to see if Dan spoke again.

He did, and he made a lot more sense. “I know you’re having nightmares, Gavin.” He told him, pointedly. “I think you should face them.”

Gavin’s anger was venomous and vehement. “I’m not having nightmares.” He said, all too quickly to be genuine, his posture tight and defensive. Dan pulled a face at him.

“So you’ve never woken Michael up screaming, then? The discussion I had with him about it was one big lie, then?” He wasn’t wording it politely, like he maybe should have- but he wasn’t in the mood for being nice. He was in the mood for solving their problems together.

Gavin didn’t answer, completely unwilling to own up. He knew he had been- he woke up with the gunshot ringing in his ears, the feeling of a knife on his skin. He hated it, and he had been losing sleep over it, and Michael had been trying to talk to him about it. But he never listened, and he wasn’t about to start now. Instead, he stared at his bare feet, glaring at the like it was their fault. And Dan gave up, having the intense feeling that he was fighting Michael’s battles for him.

Gavin sighed heavily, stretching out his legs, and wished he could run away, back in time, to a time where everything was so much simpler. “I hate this.” He sighed, and Dan made a noise of bitter agreement. They sat uselessly, in a long silence, the audio of the television washing over them.

“Fuck this.” Dan abruptly stood up, almost scaring Gavin half to death. His friend turned to him, and held out a hand. “We’re going out. To the shops, or somewhere. To stop you moping, because Jesus, you’re boring when you mope.”

Gavin’s immediate reaction was to be deeply offended, but after he realised exactly what Dan was offering him- temporary, technical freedom- he leapt at the chance. He grabbed Dan’s hand before he had the chance to change his mind and pull it away, and let himself be hauled up. It did pull at his ribs a little, but he ignored it, knowing that if he made a fuss he would be allowed out.

“Thank you.” His voice was practically saturated with relief.

“I’ll even buy you some sweeties when we get there, if you’re a good boy.” Dan grinned, and he only laughed when Gavin hit him again, firmly in the chest.

“Go to hell.” He told him, but he was grinning too, and he didn’t mean a word of it.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Joel was never one to shirk responsibility or run away from his problems, but something like this made him want to flee, whimpering, with his tail between his legs.

The café was incredibly busy, teeming and bustling with a mix of both exhausted and cheery looking people. It was their rush-hour, after all. Joel had chosen this spot for a reason, knowing that they would be utterly inconspicuous, lost in the crowd. Many customers were swarming over from their jobs, dressed in uniforms or immaculate suits, all lining up for their daily dose of caffeine or claiming seats for their lunch. They were lured in by the blissful aroma of coffee and food, shepherded in like sheep. At any other point, Joel would have happily been one of them, but not today.

It wasn’t the café that installed such fear in him- there was nothing wrong with it, it was practically perfect- but it was who was waiting for him inside that made him blanch.

Joel entered, the bell over the door chiming and signalling his arrival, and one of the waitresses looked up with a charming smile, politely welcoming him. He flashed a smile of his own, nodding to her, and he was grateful when she looked away, distracted with serving another customer. He turned his head, searching the restaurant with great reluctance, hoping he wasn’t there- but he was. He sat in a crowded corner, alone at a small table, with enough space for two. The man stared at him, expectantly, and Joel grudgingly made his way across to him with great, long strides. He ignored the way his stomach tightened, the queasiness almost overwhelming him.

There was a drink waiting for him on the table as he took his seat, still visibly steaming, and Joel wondered if Gus knew what his favoured drink was. They didn’t know much about each other, despite being partners. Really, the man would have preferred some hard alcohol, but he supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Thank you,” He said, curling his hand around the cup, feeling the heat warm his hands. Gus greeted him and acknowledged him with a smile, holding his own cup. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have much time.” That was a lie. He had all day to sit down and chat if he wanted too, but he wanted to get away as soon as was humanly possible. “I can’t stay for long. Duty calls, and all that.”

“That’s fine.” Gus said, taking a sip. Joel joined him, and the coffee tasted like ambrosia. He closed his eyes and sighed at the sensation of warmth flooding his belly. “I don’t have much either. I just need what you know so I can do a report.” They let each other drink for a few moments, and they both took the sight of each other in. Joel noted that Gus was dressed incredibly casually, in jeans and a plain black shirt, likely to make blending in easier. He looked severely irritated by something, too, his eyebrows knitted. In turn, Gus noted how Joel sagged in his chair, like a flower that hadn’t been watered, and wondered just what the hell he had been doing to be so exhausted.

But eventually, the silence had to be broken. Gus put down his half empty cup with a light thud against the wooden table. “So how is it going? Have you found anything out?”

And here comes the betrayal, he thought, and he let everything he knew tumble out of his mouth before he could change his mind and deflect his loyalties.  “It’s going,” He took a moment to search for an appropriate word, but the only one that came to mind was, “Decently. They don’t suspect me, for starters. They think I’m one of them.” Gus smiled, clearly pleased. “I haven’t found out a lot- They’ve told me pretty much what we already know- but I can tell you about members, a couple of drug deals and some boxing matches, if you want.”

Gus sighed, planting an elbow in the table, leaning his cheek into his palm. “Joel, is that all you’ve been doing? We’re going to need more than that. We need to do a bust. A proper one, that weakens them severely.”

“I know you do.” His voice was a little too rough, a little too on edge, and Joel had to take a breath and a drink to calm himself down before continuing. “I know. I want to get this shit done, too. But we can’t do anything to them, not yet.”

They paused while a group, two clearly stressed parents with a curious toddler and a suddenly squalling baby went by, snapping at each other, close to tearing their hair out. Both men sympathised. When they continued, Gus’ voice was careful and low. “Why not?”

“A new gang.” Joel informed him, and Gus seemed to light up, sitting up straight in his seat, dark eyes shining. “I know, exciting, right?” He faked a smile. He wasn’t so excitable as Gus and the others were, wasn’t so eager for shootouts or bloodshed. Those weren’t his style. He preferred fighting his battles with words and letters. “I think it’s Cobb’s gang that’s trying to fuck them up. He’s attacked a couple of members, and he’s been stalking them. Geoff doesn’t know it’s Cobb, no one does, but he recognises the fact another person’s trying to muscle in on what Ramsey sees as his territory, and he doesn’t like that at all.”

“Perhaps we can use this to our advantage.” Gus wondered aloud, clearly deep in thought, and Joel nodded. His partner laughed. “Shit, the guys back at the precinct are going to love this.”

“I never knew officers of the law could be so bloodthirsty,” He said dryly, sarcastically, but he knew full well how terrible they could be. He had spent years working his way up the ranks, and despite the fact he knew there were good officers trying to make a difference, their opinions and morally right actions were unbalanced by brutality and negative public opinion. He loved helping people, but he hated his job more than anything.

“Bloodthirsty, please.” Gus snorted. He wasn’t the worst of them, not by far, there were dozens more aggressive than him, but he was hardly a saint. “Just bored.” He finished off his drink with another few gulps. “So we can’t do anything? They’re untouchable?”

Joel nodded his agreement, bouncing his head a few times. “They’re too powerful right now, and much too on edge. Some of the biggest trades- they’re run by a woman named Barbara Dunkleman- are being put off for a while, postponed because they’re all so paranoid, and they’re busy trying to rat out Cobb’s group. We should bide our time, wait for Cobb to enter the fray officially, then we can strike when one of the groups have been destroyed. I want to warn you, though.” He said, his voice now serious and severe. “We’re underestimating them. They’re smart, they’re shrewd, they’re fiercely loyal to each other.” He scratched as his neck, rubbing the back of it, barely realising he was doing so. “Geoff is one hell of a man. Everyone either worships him like some kind of fucking deity, or they’re terrified of him. It’s mostly the latter.” He took a sip, and the coffee suddenly seemed so tasteless when he thought of Ray, the man so scared of Geoff, but so unbelievably trustworthy. He was so pliant, a trusting little boy, and Joel was betraying him. He felt sick.

“And what about Cobb? Is he the same?”

“I don’t know anything about Cobb, at all. I’d never even heard of the guy until I stared poking around.” He smiled, a little sheepishly. “I was hoping you’d know about him.”

“Well, I don’t know much, but it’s more than nothing.” He placed his cup back on the table and pushed it to one side, nearer the edge of the table so any passing waitresses could take it. “He’s smart, and he’s suave, a lot like Geoff. He’s fucking untouchable, too. We’ve nearly had him a few times over the years, something still a little over your pay grade, but he always has a flawless alibi and the same rotten son of a bitch attorney.” Something in his jaw flexed, and Joel wondered if there was a personal vendetta in that animosity. “We can’t do shit to him, but we can sometimes get some of his lessers- we know about their group initiation, so we can keep an eye out for possible new recruits, and we know that all members carry around switchblades with a little symbol carved into the handle. We’ve caught a few, so we can try our best to limit Cobb’s power, but it’s like taking a couple of matches away from a pyromaniac. The bastard will find a way.”

Joel made a mental note of all of that, absorbing every piece of information. His brain was a special thing, seemingly able to remember the smallest of details, but he always wrote things down, just in case.  He would recount the information as soon as he got home, committing it to paper, and he would ponder upon it all night. He huffed out a sigh. Another sleepless night it is, then. Brilliant.

There was something else he had been losing sleep over, too, something else he had been worrying about. “How’s the Jones investigation going?” He asked, genuinely interested- and it certainly wasn’t because Ray had been chattering about the Jones boy non-stop. “I haven’t seen him around recently. But you haven’t arrested him, have you?”

“Nah.” Gus shook his head, leaning back in his chair. A waitress came along, taking the cup, and he declined a refill. Joel’s was still half full. She scurried away, and he continued. “Thanks for calling that in, by the way. We just had a look to see what information we could get, and there wasn’t anything new. The people who ransacked it must have cleaned it out properly. They’re pretty hardcore, so we’re guessing it was Cobb after all. They’re more than petty criminals, but they’re not quite organized crime. They’re something new. Something different. ” He rubbed at his cheek, and Joel noted his earlier irritation had seemingly melted away, to be replaced  by a kind of lazy satisfaction. “Chief is going to appreciate this. You’ve done good work, Joel. Not that I was expecting any different.”

Joel ran a long finger around the edge of his cup, sapping the last of the warmth from the liquid, and considered. He wanted to be honest- God forbid that Gus would find out he was withholding information and think that Joel was a triple agent, or some stupid shit like that- but he didn’t want to tell him everything. He wanted to keep things like Ray private. The man was his, he was charming and cute and hilarious and he was his, no one else’s.

But he knew the risk was great, and his job and well being was more important than whatever feelings he had for Ray, no matter how strong they were, because the man was a criminal and Joel was an officer.

He sucked in a breath, forcing his mouth to open and form words, his tongue feeling heavy against his teeth. “I’ve kind of made a friend in the group. They trust me, and they tell me quite a lot of stuff.”

Gus automatically snickered in response- until he looked at Joel and realised he was being serious. He arched a brow. “You’ve made a friend?” His voice was disbelieving. Joel murmured a quiet ‘yes’, and took a long drink as if to drown his sorrows. He needed alcohol, he decided. “Well, that’s pretty clever. Pretty impressive. Kind of cold hearted too, I suppose, but you don’t feel guilt like anyone else, do you?”

Joel bit back a ‘fuck you’ and grit his teeth, feeling his jaw twitch. The guilt stirred in his belly, clamping around his heart, and he imagined what Ray would say when he found out he had been kissing and fucking a traitor. What expression would be frozen on his beautiful face.

At that moment, not for the first time in his life, Joel hated himself with a passion. Gus didn’t notice, too busy chuckling to himself. “Well, whatever. Whatever gets you more info, right?” He cracked his knuckles loudly, the sound splintering in the café that had slightly emptied out, the rush trickling away into nothingness. Joel pushed his own empty cup away, only leaving the dregs of the coffee grounds. “Is that all?”

He made a sound of affirmation, and cleared his throat loudly. “Yes.” The waitress came quicker this time, less harried now a significant amount of the customers had left, and he also declined a refill. He wanted to get out of the café as soon as was physically possible, and maybe pretend the talk had never happened, and that he had never betrayed Ray’s trust. “I need to go now, anyway.”

“Me too.” Gus pushed back his chair and rose, holding out his hand for Joel to shake. Somewhat reluctantly, he grasped it. Gus had a crushing handshake, one that you learnt to develop working in such a competitive job, and Joel resisted the urge to straighten out the bones in his hand when he finally, thankfully drew it away. “Keep in touch. Get in contact if there’s any developments.”

“I will.” He promised, even though his heart screamed for mercy.

His original plan was to go home, write down everything he had learnt and create his battle plan. He would have built up his defences again, with knowledge of this new unique threat, and made sure he was always aware of every single thing that happened around him. He planned to work into the early hours of the morning, sacrificing his rest once again, and continue lying and scheming and investigating behind Geoff’s back.

Instead, he crawled rather pathetically to the warehouse he knew Ray would be in, working away with the others, completely ignorant to the fact there was a traitor in their midst.

He stepped into the room, immediately seeing Ray leaning over a desk, and Monty just about to leave the room. Monty noticed him first, almost walking directly into him. A delighted smile spread across his face, utterly genuine, but tinged with fatigue. He liked Monty. He reminded Joel a little of himself- dedicated and loyal, but far too hardworking for his own good. He was surprised the man hadn’t of collapsed already. “Hey, man.” He greeted, but he seemed oblivious to his own pun. “How you doing?”

“I’m great, thanks.” He replied, and Ray immediately jumped, springing up at the sound of his voice. He spun around wide eyed, and his expression of shock melted away into a content grin. “But you look like you need rest.”

Monty rolled his eyes. “I get it, I get it. I’m going.” He reached over, clapping Joel gently on the back instead of roughly like anyone would have done, and bowed his head in farewell before leaving. Automatically, Ray sprung forward, practically leaping into his arms.

“Hey, where’d you go?” He was pouting, wrapping his arms around Joel’s shoulders. Joel turned on his act, playing the part of a shy man whose true personality only came out when he was around particular people and a man who definitely wasn’t a double agent, promise, and beamed down at him.

“Nowhere special. Just went to get a coffee.” He mixed his lie with a nugget of truth- and he ducked down, cupping Ray’s cheeks in both hand, and kissed him through the guilt.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Lindsay Tuggey hummed a simple tune to herself, tugging at the sleeves of her shirt as she let the door of the public bathroom swing shut behind her. She was lost in her own little world- and she was rudely jerked out of it when she heard the chillingly familiar sound of a gun clicking in her ear.

She immediately froze in place, her entire form stilling and tensing. Her blood froze to ice in her veins, her heart clenching in a panic. Her feet felt suddenly heavy, as if weighed down with blocks of concrete, but her stomach felt feather light with sudden intensity and apprehension. Partly out of instinct and partly out of experience she knew to slowly spread her fingers apart and to tilt her hands until they were palm first, and she gradually lifted them into the air. She kept her breaths shallow and silent.

Her attacker noticed her practised efficiency, and he chuckled. It was a low sound, almost directly in her ear. “Been in this situation before?” His voice was smooth and certainly male- most likely experienced and trained, she guessed, judging by his confidence. The freezing cold barrel of the gun shifted, almost caressing her hair. She felt the metal scrape against her scalp. She withheld a shiver, and struggled to calm her racing heart.

“Too many times.” She replied, as casually as she could muster.

“Then you know you better not fuck with me.” He purred, his voice only dropping lower. Lindsay stared directly ahead, the gears in her mind whirring. She wasn’t armed. She’d left the gun in her car, convinced she wouldn’t need it. It was just going to be a trip to the bathroom. Stupid, she cursed herself.

“Can I ask who you are?” She tried to ask evenly. If she showed to much interest, he’d be suspicious. Even though, really, he’d be careful of revealing too much anyway.

“I don’t really see how that’s any of your concern.”

“You’ve got a gun to my head.” Lindsay pointed out, her tone dry. The man laughed, and to her vague surprise, it didn’t sound like the stereotypical movie villain. Shame. “I can’t really do anything but ask questions.”

The gun dug into her ear. She tried not to flinch away. “That’s true. So I guess you don’t have any choice.” The stranger said, and his voice sent chills dancing up her spine. “Be a clever little girl. You either come with me, all nice and calm, or I blow your fucking brains out.” There was a pause, clearly for the theatrical effect, and Lindsay rolled her eyes. But she thought it through, considering both her options and the consequences her actions may have. She wondered where he would take her, what he would do. How long would she live for? Who the fuck was he?

She thought it all through, taking every option, every branch, every possibility. Then she made her decision.

“Fuck that.” She spoke simply, and then she spun, sweeping the palm of her hand up, straight into the bastard’s face. It connected with a beautiful, satisfied crunch, and caught off guard and overwhelmed with sudden splitting pain the man released a deafening wail. A victorious grin curled on her lips, and a laugh bubbled free. But the fight wasn’t won yet. As quick as a viper, she grabbed for the man’s wrist with her other hand and twisted with all the force she could. His fingers were forced to loosen, and the gun clattered to the tiled floor. Lindsay had no time to breath a sigh of relief, but she thanked God that the gun didn’t go off. Asshole had the fucking safety on the whole time.

“Bitch!” He snarled, and his eyes blazed with fury. He wasn’t a big man- he was an inch shorter than her. He was built with a fair bit of muscle, but he was wounded, trapped and caught off guard- Lindsay had almost every advantage. She shoved him back, pushing on one shoulder while still gripping his limp hand. His back connected hard with the wall. Before he could react, still grunting with pain and growling like a wounded, fierce animal, she grabbed a hold of his hair and forced him down.

She managed to spin him with some difficulty, and he tried to lash out at her- but she yanked him up, and then slammed his face sharply down, onto the bathroom counter. The sound it made was frankly horrific, indescribable and sickening, but it gave her a worrying sense of satisfaction. He made no sound of pain- he was already out, and he slumped. She dropped him, and he fell out of her hands uselessly.

“Fuck you.” She spat at his unresponsive, unmoving body. He’d be out cold for a very long while- long enough for the police to respond, thanks to his little outburst. His pained cries replayed in her head, and she allowed herself a giggle of satisfaction. She reached down and grabbed him, hauling him across the floor and positioning him facedown on the cold, tiled floor. Shrugging out of her jacket and clutching it in both hands, she ducked down and gingerly picked up the gun. She knew she didn’t have a lot of time- she couldn’t waste a single second. Making sure it never came into contact with her skin, she placed it in the unconscious man’s hands. It was a shitty gun, and the way she defeated him with ease cast suspicion on her first assumption- this man was not a professional.

It wouldn’t do much to throw the police off- they’d still be after her, his attacker. But they’d be a hell of a lot more interested about why he had a gun covered in his own prints.

Nothing made sense to her, but then again, in this world, nothing did.

She quickly pulled on her jacket, checking her appearance in a mirror. Did she look like she’d been attacked by a man with a gun and then turned and beat the hell out of him? No? Excellent.

She crept out of the bathroom and slipped out of the building, and she was long gone.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Caleb stepped blindly out into the street, praying he wouldn’t walk directly into someone while he juggled far too many shopping bags for one mere mortal in his arms. He barely missed tripping over a dog, and he muttered out an apology when the owner fixed him with a sharp glare. He got out of the way of the pedestrians- very nearly sending everything crashing to the floor when he stumbled- and carefully placed everything he was holding onto the street floor.

God, he hated it when it was his turn to buy the beer for the guys.

He flexed his fingers out, a little sore from carrying the bags out of the shop. He rubbed them together, hoping the redness would go away soon. He considered calling someone and getting them to help- but they would only taunt him for it for the rest of his life. He huffed out a heavy exhale, and ducked back down. Best to get it over with soon, he thought.

The grocery bags shifted, and went into his left hand. The plastic handles were thinning and stretching, and they cut deep into his hands, and he was thankful that all he had to do was drag them down to his car. He had a smallish crate of beer in the other hand, knowing it was all he could carry. Miles could suck it if he dared to complain. Caleb hauled them up and winced at the weight, but he didn’t complain. He stepped back out into the street, and started the slow journey back to his car.

It was nice day, he thought, the sun not particularly warm but bright, occasionally peeking through light wisps of cloud. It wasn’t really the kind of day when anything overwhelmingly bad happened- sure, you might stub your toe or maybe lose something important, but no one was going to mug you in bright daylight, would they?

He had left his car in a parking lot, not too far away from the shop he needed. He had parked it almost in the direct centre between a black truck and a green Mini, lost in a plethora of other vehicles- so he couldn’t see what had happened until he grew closer.

When he finally saw it, the bags and the case fell from his hands. The beers chinked together violently as if in protest, almost breaking, but he didn’t even flinch at the sound.

His car was a fucking wreck. The bonnet had been practically annihilated, the once smooth front dented and utterly ruined. There were scratches all over it, too, like a key had been scraped along the metal. Long streaks of paint had been removed. Every single window was smashed, the shards of sharp glass littering the seats and the car’s floor. Even the lights had been broken, and both of the mirrors had been torn off and lie smashed on the floor.

The dark truck that had been parked to his right had gone.

“Fuck.” He groaned, staring at the empty space it had once occupied. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He ran both hands through his hair, gripping at it tightly. He felt the urge to kick something and scream, the frustration rising in him like a storm, but he didn’t want to bring anyone running. He should call someone, he knew.

He walked a loose circle around his car, taking in the entirety of the damage as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. His car wasn’t exactly nice- but it was expensive and he had cherished it. He’d given it a name and everything. Once they found out who had done it- if it was random thugs, stupid kids or a potential rival gang, he would murder them. From the back, he saw that every single tire had been slashed and even his damned licence plate had been removed. A crowbar had been left abandoned on the floor, and Caleb curiously wondered if the people who had smashed up his baby had been stupid enough to leave prints on it.

He was already speed dialling Miles, ready to demand assistance and a ride, when he stepped around to view the other side of the ruined vehicle. His mouth slacked, his eyes widened, and he couldn’t even muster up a few incomprehensible noises when Miles answered on the fifth ring with a drawled “Did you forget what beer we wanted?”

Someone had keyed a small sigil and a scrawling message into the side of his car, the lines long and deep. It was messy and clearly not a professional job, but it sent a chill throughout Caleb’s spine. The sigil was a simple circle within a square, with two lines slashed through it. He didn’t recognise it, but he had the sinking feeling he was going to be seeing a lot more of it, sooner than he would like.

WE’RE GOING TO GET YOU, the carving said, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

He was choking back sobs now, and coughing up thick blood- but still they beat him.

He didn’t know how long it had been now- a handful of minutes, an hour, maybe several. All he knew was that he wanted it to stop. He’d been begging for mercy and slurring out prayers through broken teeth and swollen lips, but it wasn’t enough. His ribs felt like they were on fire. The cuts on his skin blazed with agony. His eyes were stinging with tears and his cheeks were damp as they fell.

Still, they kept on.

He didn’t know what they wanted. All he knew is that one moment, everything was fine. Normal. He was sat in his apartment quite happily with his girlfriend, then he was walking to the shop just down the road to grab a pack of cigarettes- and then someone hauled him into an alleyway and started wailing on him, saying nothing, and seemingly with no good reason.

He thought of her, his Emily. He wondered if she’d called the police. Or was he not gone for long enough? Was she worried about him? Was she still curled up on the sofa in the blanket he’d left her in, completely and innocently unaware?

The boy lost himself in the memory of her, her sweet scent and her sweeter smile.

Eventually, the blows slowed, and they gradually ceased.

Everything hurt. It all ached.

“Tell us everything you know about Geoff Ramsey.” One of his multiple attacks growled, the sound grating at his ears. The lapse in their attacks caused him relief- but the wounds screamed with pain, causing him the exact same amount of agony.

Comprehension dawned on him- that’s what they wanted after all- and he tried to smile. It was meant to be a display of good will, a sign that he wanted to give them what they wanted but judging by their expressions it looked like a wounded animal baring it’s teeth. One of the men, a huge, meaty block of a person with a thick neck and a mop of shocking red hair raised his fist again- and the boy tried to uselessly squirm away before he was hit again. He didn’t think he could stand another blow. “Wait!” He cried, and he wondered if he was even vaguely legible now. He found it almost impossible to move, and he wondered just what was wrong with his legs. “Wait, please, I’ll tell you whatever you want!”

And he did. He told them everything he knew, even the minor, miniscule details. He was only new, only an underhand who just did what he was told- but he knew a few things. He’d heard about Ramsey’s family, a wife and a daughter, and he knew about a few drug shipments that were going out, some as early as next week, and some next month. He told them everything about some guy he had heard about, Gavin something-or-other, getting shot on the job and how it infuriated Ramsey.

He told them everything, and he told it true.

Once he finished, he tried to shrug helplessly, but it made a spark of pain flash up his collarbone, so he didn’t. He didn’t even recall getting hurt there, but it was all a blur. He wasn’t sure whether or not he should have been grateful for that. “That’s all I know.” He almost whimpered. “Please don’t hurt me again.”

The red headed man shot a glance at another guy, possibly the one who spoke to him, and nodded, just once.  Both of them had listened intently, their gazes serious. The not-redhead stood, and turned away, and the red head grasped a hold of one of the boys legs- and he wailed as the bone was deftly, effortlessly broken.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

The freezing knife was cold against Gavin’s chapped and dry lips, and he choked, he begged, he pleaded not to die. He had been here too many times before, but it still installed that primal fear in him, the kind that made his mouth and throat uncomfortably tight and dry, and his body tremble.

He was sure the man wasn’t listening to a word he said. His eyes were distant and cold, lifeless, as if they had been replaced by marbles or glass. They were dark, the pupils blown up, almost overtaking the thin circle of ice blue. He was panting, out of breath, as if he had chased Gavin, hunting him down. He couldn’t remember the chase- he wasn’t sure whether or not he should have been grateful for that particular lapse- but the muscles in his legs burnt and ached as if they were ablaze, and his chest was tight with lack of oxygen. He was weak. He was helpless. He was completely at this man’s mercy.

He had a feeling the blonde had a distinct lack of mercy.

There was a hand threaded in his hair, sharp and jagged nails agitating his scalp. It was unbearable, tearing gasps and soft cries from his mouth, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He felt sick. He stared up at the blonde man, a regular visitor to his dreams, and lost himself in his gaunt face, cheekbones standing out against the paper thin skin, the rotting teeth and inflamed gums hidden behind his lips.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that maybe if he prayed hard enough that the man would be gone when he reopened them. But the grip on his hair never loosened, and the touch of steel on his lips only drifted, ghosting to the side, caressing his cheek. The point of the knife poked at him occasionally, as if reminding him it was there, and he flinched each time, feeling the cold point like a burning cigarette on his skin. He whimpered, pathetically, like a wounded hound, and opened his eyes.

The man had changed. The first thing he saw was the arms.

Several dark tattoos snaked up thicker, stronger arms, covered with tiny freckles and small scars, gifts from shards of glass and nicks from blades. The muscles were much thicker than the blonde man’s, toned from practise and experience. They rippled underneath the patterned skin. Gavin’s eyes ran up the length of the arm, finding broad shoulders and a thick chest- and realised Geoff Ramsey now pinned him down, strong thighs on either side of his waist, a larger hand clutching a fistful of his hair.

His eyes were still ice cold, little chips of stone or flint, immovable and unbreakable. He was covered in wounds now, his lips split and bleeding, bruises painting his cheeks and jaw. His nose had been broken, and blood dribbled and oozed from one nostril. His eyes were a little red, disconcertingly so, and one had swollen up significantly. But he seemed to feel no pain. His grin was sadistic, unfriendly, unspeakably terrifying. His chest heaved, and his breaths were laboured with excitement.

“I’m going to kill your little lover boy next,” Geoff said, and his voice was wrong, too deep, too venomous, with a echo behind his words. The voice of the echo was wrong, too- it was ageless, genderless, and it didn’t seem to have the right accent. He couldn’t place it. It was disconcerting, and Gavin’s head pulsed, his brain and his eyes working overtime to take in everything at once. “I’m going to cut his throat, string him up and watch him bleed.”

He squirmed, shifting, feeling his back against cool and hard stone. His shirt was thin, utterly useless at protecting and keeping him warm, dragging against his sensitive skin. “No.” He breathed. “No.”

The knife dragged down his cheek, sliding through his skin like it was nothing at all, and he shivered at the pain and the contrasting temperatures. The knife slid down his throat, fluid, as if cutting through water. The pain was real, but it was distant, like an insect crawling over your ankle, tickling you. “Yes.” Geoff purred, his thumb sweeping across Gavin’s scalp before he brought the knife over, agitating his adam’s apple.

Gavin was surprised to find the blade’s bite was mercifully quick, and Geoff effortlessly slit his throat.

He woke up feeling like he was choking on blood.

He shot up in bed like a bullet, trying to suck in a breath, but finding himself incapable. His chest shuddered and he felt his skin slip, coated in light sweat. He coughed and gagged, trying to regurgitate the fluid, making choking and hacking sounds that he knew didn’t sound human. His throat was tight, and he grasped it, clawing at the skin, feeling his adam’s apple bob desperately. He needed water, but his throat was too dry. He was stuck, unable to breathe but unable to do anything about it.

Something shifted beside him and he could hear something grumble, and a rustling sound. That same something grabbed for his forearm, a large hand curling around his wrist. A tattoo lay inked into pale skin, and Gavin’s panic only intensified, and he ripped himself free, lashing out with his other hand. His fingers scratched something smooth, and he heard something spit a curse in alarm before the form retreated. Gavin gagged, feeling like he was about to be sick, praying he wouldn’t swallow whatever was in his throat. His eyes were watering, filling with unshed tears, and it was difficult to see. He felt disorientated. The presence beside him faltered, and he heard it call out to him. “Gavin!” Michael’s voice called out for him, panicked, disturbed. There was a flurry of movement to his side, then the sound of footsteps across the room. Something clattered to the floor, and he heard another curse. Gavin kicked what appeared to be sheets off of his legs, and twisted himself to the side, throwing his legs off of a side. A bed, he thought. Home. Bed. Bedroom. Michael.

A hand parted his legs, pulling them firmly, and then something hard and plastic was pushed between his legs. He wiped his eyes, still gagging, and saw Michael kneeling blurrily before him, pressing the bedside bin between his legs. One hand held it out, and the other reached upwards, brushing against his neck. The movement wasn’t rough, like in the dream. It was reassuring, a lover’s gentle touch.

“Hey,” He said, his voice almost completely covered up by his hacks and desperate breaths. “Hey, it’s alright. You’re safe, it’s alright.” He hushed him gently, like he would a snuffling, tearful baby. “It’s okay.”

Gavin leaned over the bin, heaving, feeling like a cat with a hairball. Humiliation burned on his cheeks and tears leaked from his eyes, rolling down and dripping from his chin, but Michael didn’t seem amused or infuriated by the noise. He stroked the skin of the back of his neck, feeling the soft hairs. “You can do it.” He urged him. “Just a little more.”

He struggled, but with Michael’s guidance, the blockage in his throat was dislodged, and whatever it was splattered into the bin. He hacked uselessly a few times, but he breathed heavily, trying to calm his rampant heartbeat. Michael’s hand moved from his throat to his shoulder, shaking a little and squeezing it once, reassuringly.

“Michael?” Gavin asked when he recovered, his voice was ruined, a guttural mess. “Michael?”

“It’s done now, you’re fine.” He smiled, the curve of his lips reassuring, and Gavin wanted to kiss him. He didn’t, instead pushing the bin away and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn’t want to see what was in there. He shuddered, like a chill ran down his spine. “Are you alright, Gavin?”

I’m fine, he wanted to say. He wanted nothing more than to curl back up into bed and fall back asleep, pretend nothing ever happened but he knew the dream would be waiting. It always was- but he had never woken up choking before, feeling like he was going to die. “I’m fi-” He began to say, but he looked up and made eye contact with his lover- and the ability to lie failed him. He let out a shuddering breath. “No, I’m not fine.”

He could see in his lover’s eyes that Michael understood, and that he was thankful for the honesty. His lover leant forward, kissing his forehead, smoothing a hand over his hair. He moved both of his hands, sliding them up and down Gavin’s back, feeling the tension of his muscles even through his nightshirt. “You’re okay now. It was just a dream.”

Gavin’s breath were still heavy shudders, only slowly calming, and he took in the sight of Michael’s left cheek, the alabaster skin marred with dark pink scratches. They weren’t as bold as Gavin’s own scars, and were bound to have disappeared by the time the morning came, but guilt was thick in Gavin’s throat. “I’m sorry I scratched you, love.”

Michael shook his head, waving away like apology like an irritating fly. “It’s cool.” The scratches stung a little, but he didn’t care. “I’m more worried about you.”

“Don’t be.” Gavin leant forward, pressing his forehead to Michael’s, basking in his warmth and the sense of love and security that came with it. “I’m alright now. I think.”

Some cleared their throat, hesitantly, the sound a faint rumble like a rockslide on the other side of a mountain, and both men looked up, withdrawing from one another reluctantly.

Dan dithered at the door, uncertainly, as if concerned about what he would find. He kept his eyes locked on the floor, as if he could read his fortune in the carpet. “Are you guys alright?”

“We’re not naked.” Michael told him, exasperated. Dan let out a sigh of relief, going through the pantomime of wiping his forehead of nervous sweat, and looked up. His dark eyes were surprisingly earnest.

“Are you two okay?” He eyed them carefully, taking in the way Michael was practically glued to Gavin’s side, and the way Gavin’s hand trailed the line of his own throat, still coughing occasionally, struggling to keep his sore throat clear. “Has something happened?”

Michael didn’t speak for him, which Gavin appreciated. He enjoyed the feel of Michael’s hands in silence a few seconds longer, clearing his sore throat. “I had a bad dream.”

There was a look that flashed across Dan’s face, a plethora of upset and anger and an expression that seemed to scream ‘I told you so’. But all of that was smoothed over within seconds, and Dan continued to dither, unsure of the boundaries he may cross. “Can I do anything?” His gaze shifted to Michael, and he looked vulnerable and uncertain.

Gavin’s smile was skeletal, stretched tight. “It’s fine.” He said, soothing another while his heart was still thunderous in his chest. “Go back to bed, I’ll be doing the same soon.”

After a few more words of encouragement, the look of worry never quite disappearing, Dan withdrew back into the shadows of the hallway. Gavin waited until he heard his bedroom door shut with an audible click before speaking again. “I love you.” He told Michael, and he waited for a response, needing the comfort. He wasn’t kept waiting long.

“I love you.” The boxer responded, his pleasure clear, and he kissed him deeply without much warning. Gavin let himself melt into the gentle pressure, working his lips against Michael’s eagerly, brushing a hand down his chest. It helped ease his rampant heartbeat, and by the time he pulled away, the dream was almost a fleeting memory in his mind.

“You dreamed?” Michael asked, a stupid question in retrospect, but Gavin didn’t take the chance to mock him. He just nodded. “What about? Only tell me if you want to, of course.” He added the last part rapidly, not wanting to force his lover into anything.

Gavin exhaled, heavily, his nostrils flaring. He reached up and rubbed at his scars again, without realising- but Michael caught his hand and pulled it away, kissing the marks sweetly. Gavin noted the diamond, still slung around Michael’s neck. He smiled, and pecked him on the cheek, but didn’t let it distract him. “The attack.” He supplied, and Michael’s eyes darkened dangerously, his lips pursing.

“The man who did that is dead.” Michael told him, very matter-of-factly. “And even if he wasn’t, I would have found him and killed him for you.”

“My hero.” Gavin mooned sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I know, but I can’t help what I dream.” Michael’s eyes abruptly softened, and he sighed.

“I know you can’t, Gav.” He said, and he leant forward, shuffling between Gavin’s still parted legs and tucking his head into the crook of Gavin’s neck. He wrapped his arms properly around Gavin’s form, noting how small he felt in his arms, how lithe and thin. “I’m sorry it’s still haunting you.”

Gavin circled his own arms around his boxer, and hummed, enjoying the feel of him. “I’m sorry too.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Michael complained, and Gavin only smiled.

“I know.” He chuckled a little, and Michael rolled his eyes, softly muttering ‘asshole’ in the same endearing tone Gavin had heard thousands of times before. Michael kissed the soft skin beneath his ear, sweetly, and his lover purred softly, like a cat having it’s ears rubbed.

“I’m going to say something you might not like.” Michael breached the topic innocently, speaking in a purposefully silly voice as if to avoid responsibility and the consequences. He felt rather than heard Gavin’s rumbling laughter, and it shook his own chest.

“Oh god.” He said, his tone speaking volumes of all the sarcastic dread he felt. “What have you done now, you sausage?”

“I haven’t done anything!” Michael spluttered, coming to his own defence. “How could you say that, you terrible person?” They laughed together, and for another second, everything was perfect. But just for that second. “It’s about what we do,” Michael said, and Gavin was immediately sobered, the laugh dying in his throat. Michael took a moment to swallow, to string a argument together in his head, and began. “I don’t think you should work for Geoff anymore, Gavvers.”

Gavin tried to push him away, immediately arguing and making those incomprehensible and barely English noises, but Michael clung on, and eventually Gavin stopped fighting. But he could feel the force of his lover’s glare. “Michael.” Gavin growled, his ire plain.

“Hear me out,” Michael insisted. “Think about everything that’s happened over the past few weeks- you’ve been shot and stabbed, obviously, my apartment’s been fucked over, some asshole called the police on me, we’ve declared war on these other people because we’re idiots and they’re assholes, and you just woke up choking from nightmares and scared the absolute shit out of me.” Gavin didn’t reply immediately, his expression still thunderous, and Michael continued while he still could. He expected to have Gavin’s hands wrapped around his throat by now, squeezing the life from him, so he thought things were going surprisingly well. “It’s too dangerous. We’ve discussed this before, remember? When Geoff showed you that body?” He could tell by the way Gavin tensed up under his hands that he did, and Michael trailed his hands up the length of his lover’s spine in a sure gesture of comfort. “And everything’s gotten worse, and there’s shit going down, and I’m scared that one day something big is going to happen and one of us isn’t going to come home. I‘m scared for you, Gavin.”

It took a lot for him to build up the courage to say that, considering that he didn’t like admitting his fear and weakness and that he wasn’t sure how Gavin would react- and so he wasn’t pleased when Gavin snorted, and said  “That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard.” The boxer pulled back, affronted, moving his hands from Gavin’s back and instead planting them on either side of his narrow hips.

“Excuse me?” He asked, his tone saccharine, sickly sweet.

“You heard.” Gavin shot back. “I’m not leaving. Considering that Geoff will basically hunt me down for the rest of my days, it’s more trouble than it’s worth.” He squirmed free, pulling his legs up and scooting along the bed, pulling away from his lover. “And thanks for implying I can’t take care of myself, by the way.”

He swallowed down his initial reaction, which was to poke him firmly in his injured thigh and say ‘well clearly you fucking can’t’ and instead drew back, giving him space. “I never meant to imply that,” He defended himself, ignoring his own lie. “I mean that everyone is gunning for you because you’re so close to Geoff. I’m just the boxer, for God’s sake.”

“Then how did they find out where you live? Why were you special enough to attack?”

“Well, they were looking through my address book!” He was almost shouting now, and Gavin looked furious, his face flushing a light pink. “They were probably looking for you!”

“Right, because they’re clearly so obsessed with me.” He folded his thin arms across his chest. “This is bullshit, Michael, and you know it.”

“Well, fucking sorry for caring about you, asshole.” Michael snapped, and he stood, kicking the bin back to it’s corner and crossing back to his side of the bed. “We’ll fucking leave it, then. If you end up getting shot again, don’t bitch at me when I say ‘I told you so’. I‘m going to sleep.” He practically ripped the duvet off of the bed and clambered underneath it, pulling it back over him. He ignored Gavin’s grumble of ‘tosser’ and listened to him shift to lie underneath the sheet. They both had their backs to one another, and stayed on their designated sides of the bed. Usually, they slept tangled and knotted together, or ended up embracing when Gavin shuffled up to Michael in his sleep, seeking the familiar warmth subconsciously. Michael always pretended to be annoyed by it, complaining that he woke up boiling- but he thought it was sweet, secretly, and it was a godsend in the crueller winter months.

There was no such comfort now, and they both fell silent, quietly dreading the next morning when they would have to face the consequences of their words. Gavin knew he wasn’t going to sleep, not with a combination of his nightmares and cold shouldered lover.

Michael was bordering on the precipice of sleep when it happened.

Michael’s phone lit up like a small child’s face on Christmas morning, and it began to ring, breaking the silence that blanketed them. He seriously considered ignoring it, pulling the duvet over his head and plugging his ears until the sound went away- but Gavin grunted and planted his elbow in Michael’s back. “It’s almost four in the morning,” He told him, and he sounded far too reasonable for someone who hadn’t had a good nights sleep in weeks. “If someone’s calling you at this time, it’s either important or drunk dialling.”

Michael groaned and got up, pulling off the duvet and rather childishly making sure it got pulled off of Gavin too, baring his skin to the cold air. “If it’s a drunk dial, the next time I see this person I’m going to tear out their small intestine and choke them to death with it.” Gavin snickered softly despite everything, his voice muffled into his pillow as Michael reached blindly for his phone, groping for it, almost knocking his glasses flying.

When his hand eventually curled around the object, and when he finally saw the caller ID, he sucked in a breath, and Gavin was immediately up, pressed against his side. The man had good reflexes, Michael would give him that. “What is it?” He asked, urgently.

Michael answered Gavin’s question and the call at the same time. He tried to make himself sound sleepy and disturbed, faking a yawn. “Jack?” He said, his voice deliberately low, as if he had just been rudely awoken. “What is it?”

Jack sounded like he hadn’t bothered trying to fall asleep, and his sharp words were crisp, official, businesslike. “We need you to come in.”

Michael kicked out his legs, mimicking the sounds of rustling bed sheets as if he was sitting up. He groaned loudly, wondering if he was worthy of an Oscar. Gavin stared at him as if he had grown gills and a forked tongue. “Why?” He complained. “It’s like,” He paused, pretending to look at the clock. “Jack, it’s almost four in the goddamn morning.”

‘What’s going on?’ Gavin mouthed at him, his brows furrowed, at the exact time Jack said ‘It doesn’t matter. We need you in.” He paused for a long moment, as if considering what to say. Then, he said, “There’s been an incident, Michael. Well, several. We need you here.”

An incident, he thought, and he wanted to hang up, collapse on his bed and sleep curled up next to the man he loved for the next ten years. He felt old beyond his time, stretched out thin by the stress, pain and the worry. The past few weeks had been relentless, and now, there were more weights being balanced on his back, and he had the terrible feeling he was being pushed agitatingly close to his breaking point. He weighed the pro’s and con’s, seriously considering telling Jack to go fuck himself, before he finally said “I’ll be there and soon as I can.”

“Good.” Jack replied shortly, and without a word of thanks, the line went dead.

Michael dropped his phone at the end of his bed, and Gavin was on him in a second. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on and if you’re not honest I’ll crush your balls, I swear to god.” Michael huffed out half-hearted laughter in response, running a hand through his hair. He mussed it up a little, lamenting the loss of his goodnight’s rest. “Michael, this isn’t funny.”

“No, it definitely isn’t.” He replied, swinging his legs off the side of his bed. “As you’re about to find out.” He gestured over to the bedside cabinet on Gavin’s side, where his mobile innocently lay. “Jack doesn’t know we’re together, remember? He’s going to call you in a second.”

Proving him right almost immediately, Gavin’s phone came to life, some ridiculous tune Michael detested playing in the still air of the bedroom. The man froze for a split second, a sweet little rabbit caught in the glaring headlights of a car- and he lunged for his phone, almost slipping off the bed. Michael turned away, climbing out of the bed, grudgingly leaving it’s warmth. “Hello?” He heard Gavin ask, and he was pleased to hear that Gavin had adopted his same trick, practically slurring his words into the speaker. He was a much better actor than Michael was, by far. “Jack?” Michael kept an ear out for Gavin’s voice as he shed his night clothes and crossed the room to open the wardrobe, changing into a comfortable pair of jeans and a favoured, slightly worn shirt.

By the time he heard Gavin say “Yes, yes, I’ll tell Dan.”, sounding genuinely exhausted and almost ready to cry, Michael was already ready to leave, and slipping out of the room to wake their friend up.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Michael wasn’t precisely sure what to expect, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to walk into the main hall and find every single member of Geoff’s gang milling around, all looking as lost and worried and exhausted as he felt.

Gavin blinked by his side, his expression belonging to someone who had no idea what was going on. Michael understood the feeling all too well. “Have we just decided to hold an impromptu gangster convention?” He joked, their argument seemingly forgotten for now, and Michael shrugged uselessly.

“Fuck knows.” He said, and Dan looked at his phone, clutched tight in his hand, almost a deathgrip.

“It’s six thirty in the fucking morning.” He exclaimed. “What the hell is going on?”

Michael recognised a majority of the people, seeing Barbara again, her face a cool mask, and Ray yawning widely, standing right by Joel’s side. The taller man seemed tense, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. Nothing new there, Michael supposed. He saw Caleb dart in and out of the crowd, directing the lesser members that Michael didn’t know, and he seemed shaken somehow, jumping at every noise, no matter how mild or insignificant. Sometimes he saw Miles and Lindsay doing headcounts, making sure everyone was in attendance. Everyone Michael saw either looked worried or utterly confused, some a mixture of both. But a rare few were stony faced, their expressions like granite.

“Michael.” Gavin’s voice was urgent. “Michael, I don’t like it.”

Michael eyed them all, watching the sea of people cautiously. “Me neither, Gavin.” He reached out for his lover’s hand, aiming to drag him inside to find out just what the hell was going on- but he caught himself, just at the last moment, when the tips of his fingers brushed Gavin’s. No, he steeled himself, pulling his hand back. We’re not lovers here.

A high pitched whistle sounded over the sound of murmuring voices, and all other sounds immediately died a swift, sudden death.

The three all exchanged a glance, and stepped closer to the crowd wordlessly, preparing for whatever was due to come. They pushed their way through, keeping their eyes on each other the whole time, and ended up halting at the front of the crowd, standing next to Lindsay, Joel and Ray. Lindsay looked relieved to see them, and Michael mouthed ‘what the hell is this’? She lifted a finger to her lips, and swivelled her eyes to the front.

Geoff stood before them, his arms crossed tight against his chest, his legs parted more than was probably comfortable, giving off a dominant air, and he gazed at them all. Michael noted that despite his confrontational act, he seemed harried and stressed, disturbed by some unknown occurrence. And Michael didn’t like that at all.

His hostility was plain to see, and a cold fury emitted from him, icy tendrils gripping every poor bastard in the room and squeezing them, claws scraping against their skin. Michael felt something akin to fear rise in his chest as he looked his boss up and down. Judging by the way Gavin took a sudden step forward, standing just ahead of Michael, he sensed it too. He moved as if to push Michael backwards, but stopped himself just in time, gritting his own jaw. Michael supposed his lover had seen Geoff angry many more times than anyone else in the room, and he knew how to appropriately react. He looked to his other side, and Dan was watching Gavin cautiously, his posture tight.

Geoff had yet to speak, and Michael took the chance to take in the people around him. Burnie, Jack and Ryan were all there- he wondered only half mockingly if they had some curse on them which wouldn’t allow them to be parted- but interestingly, to his immediate left, there stood a woman. She was tall, shapely and beautiful, with her own vibrant tattoos adorning her arms. She had a hand on her hip- and he immediately saw the wedding ring on her finger, slightly worn from age but still bright in the overhead lights.

He had never had the pleasure of meeting Griffon Ramsey, his boss’ wife, and now he was just as fearful of her as he was Geoff. She look stern, with her brows furrowed and her posture utterly no nonsense, and they looked more like business partners than husband and wife. But Michael was more interested in why she was here- not what she looked like. Shit must be serious if she’s here.

Then, Geoff began to speak, and his voice rang out across the hall. “I’m not going to sugar coat it for you,” He said, and there was a collective sense of unease across the hall. Joel, always on edge, shifted where he stood, and Michael swore he saw Ray’s hand brush too casually against his inner wrist. He didn’t know what to make of that, but he decided it wasn’t exactly appropriate to ask. Geoff continued on, and Michael tuned back in. “We’ve been working hard since these new bastards turned up, trying to worm them out and put them down. But we clearly haven’t been working hard enough.” He paused. “There have been seven more incidents, added to Gavin Free’s shooting and the breaking and entering in Michael Jones’ apartment.” Michael swore he felt eyes on the back of his neck, burning a hole with the force of their stares, and he cleared his throat lowly, and shifted uncomfortably under their judgement. Gavin tried his best to ignore it, but when Michael shot him a glance, he had flushed a light pink, and his hands were tracing the scars on his collarbone again. “All of these incidents,” Geoff continued on, “have all been in the last twenty four hours or so, and they all have either included violence or clear threats.” He stepped forward- Michael saw the way Gavin abruptly flinched at the sudden movement- and raised a hand, pointing directly at Lindsay. “Lindsay Tuggey has been attacked at gunpoint,” He announced, and Michael and Gavin both abruptly rounded on her.

“What?” They hissed at her, in almost perfect unison, and she glared at them, hushing them loudly. She too turned pink with embarrassment as all eyes fell onto her.

Geoff continued as if there wasn’t a small ruckus directly in front of his nose, but Griffon levelled them with a firm look, her unfamiliar eyes hard. All three of them hung their heads. What a good first impression. “One of our members, James Kann has been hospitalized after being beaten severely, and it’s not very likely he’ll pull through.” The hall was silent, morose, but Michael didn’t recognise the name. “And Caleb Denecour had his car smashed, and received a threatening message. At the same time, we have had four different shipments of methamphetamine stolen- all in different places.” He let that sink in for a moment, let the severity of the situation become apparent. “I am not happy.”

When Geoff wasn’t happy, everyone else was frenzied, eager to please, desperate to keep him smiling. Michael could practically taste the tension that had built in the room.

“Added to the previous two incidents, this makes nine times that this group has taken us for fools.” Geoff began to pace, walking up and down the line of the group, his hands now folded behind his back. Griffon watched him walk, her expression unreadable. “I don’t intend to let this happen again, so I am splitting everyone into two groups. One group will act as if everything is normal- business as usual, if you would. The other will be working intently in order to protect our reputation and our people. Do you all understand?”

Silence.

Geoff narrowed his eyes, and the tension in the room fluctuated. “Do you understand?” He repeated, his voice rumbling.

“Yes.” Practically everyone in the room spoke eagerly, the sounds echoing all around, but Michael remained deathly silent. No one noticed.

You better not do what I think you’re doing, asshole.

He nodded to himself, as if saying ‘good’. No one was exactly going to argue back. “The first team will be lead by Burnie.” Geoff gestured to him, and the man stepped forward, as if no one knew he was. Michael suppressed an unamused snort. “This group will be made up from Barbara, Ryan, Dan, Jack, Joel, Michael, Kara, Caleb and Miles.” Of course. Michael chanced a look at Gavin, whose lips were drawn tight and fists clenched, but he made no argument. Dan looked apprehensive. “This group will be dedicated to finding out more about these bastards, and they’ll make them pay. Everyone else,” He said, stressing ‘everyone’, “will be working business as usual. However, as my main men are on the other team, Gavin Free is temporarily replacing them, working as my right hand man. Anything that needs my attention will be told to him first, and he will tell me if he deemed it important enough.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Michael blurted out, the filter between his brain and his mouth collapsing and caving in on itself, and everyone turned to stare again. He grimaced at himself, expecting a fury of thunder to crash down upon him. Most of the looks were incredulous, some of the horrified. Geoff himself was immovable, and Griffon looked like she was going to burst into peals of laughter.

“Michael, shut up.” Gavin snarled, his voice having a deep, commanding tone to it- one that promised retribution as soon as they were alone. Michael felt like sagging.

“Anyone who has a problem with my decision,” Geoff announced as if no one had ever spoken, but his words had a weight to them, the words crackling with charged energy. “can speak to me in private.” He bowed his head. “Dismissed. Meet up with the leader of your team for a discussion, and the rest of you can get to work. Griffon’ll tell you what to do.”

The trickle of sound returned, conversations reigniting, and before Michael could say a word Gavin surged forward, stepping straight towards Geoff. He called his name, demanding and furious, but Dan’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Wait.” The other man hissed, and Michael froze.

Gavin stopped, directly in front of Geoff, and bowed his head as if submitting. “Sir, if I may?”

If Geoff was confused, he didn’t show it. “You may.”

Gavin laced his fingers together in front of his stomach, lifting his head. “I wanted to thank you for choosing me to replace the others. I know there weren't many other people, and you were kinda forced to, but I wanted to thank you for giving me the chance. Ever since I got shot, people have been babying me, but you never did. So…” He offered him a smile, a skittish gesture. He bowed his head respectfully, almost shyly. “Thanks, I suppose.”

Geoff laughed, he legitimately laughed, and his eyes almost seemed kind, crinkling. It was an alien noise to nearly everyone in attendance. “It’s no problem, Gavin.” He told him, “And you were always my first choice. You’re a smart kid, Gavin, despite your lack of violence.”

Clearly pleased, Gavin ducked his head, already stepping away. “Thank you.” He repeated, a little breathless with excitement. “I- I better go get to work. I’ll be talking to Joel, talking about what I need to do.”

Geoff waved him away, still smiling, and he moved, moving to leave the hall. Instead of rippling around him like they usually would, Jack and Ryan stuck with Burnie. Geoff almost looked naked, bare and vulnerable without them by his side. He didn’t look too affected by the loss, but Michael supposed he had time to come to terms with it. Griffon followed, though, close at her husband’s heels, her steps just as confident as his. They made no move to hold hands, strictly professional. Michael wished he had their restraint.

“Watch Gavin for me,” Michael gritted out between clenched teeth, and he yanked himself free of Dan’s grasp, chasing after the two of them. He caught up with the two in no time, ignoring the way Dan shouted after him, and hearing the noise, Griffon turned on her heel. She was an intimidatingly tall woman, even in flats, and she looked down on him, a golden brow arched. “Hey.” He said, much less polite than he had intended.

He saw Geoff’s back stiffen, the muscles bunching under the shirt, and he turned. Michael never faltered. “Why’d you make Gavin you’re new second in command?” He demanded to know, not caring about the consequences. He was blinded with his anger. “What the hell made you think that would be a good idea?”

“Excuse me?” Geoff asked, politely, as if he had misheard him. Michael, inept, didn’t pick up on the fact he was giving him a second chance, a moment to change his words.

“Why is Gavin your second in command?” His voice was brusque. “Why the hell did you put him on the front lines? Are you trying to get him killed?”

Griffon laughed silently, only a puff of air ever signifying her disbelief, and shook her head. “Men. You’re all the same.”

Geoff’s own voice was quiet, unsettlingly so. “Are you questioning my authority, Michael?”

Michael swallowed, feeling like he had blindly walked directly into a trap, and he desperately tried to backpedal as the trap snapped at his feet. Now, he definitely cared about the consequences. “No, sir.” He replied, just as quiet, feeling like an overconfident fool trying to challenge the alpha. Geoff looked at him, simply staring, his eyes like ice. The tension between them built, the air growing tight and crushingly heavy, growing a deadly momentum. Michael regretted ever speaking up.

“Then get back in line, boy.” He eventually said, restraining his anger, harnessing it, saving it for the people who truly deserved it. He turned away, and Michael walked back marvelling that he hadn’t had his throat torn out.

Gavin was still there, doing something with Joel, he didn’t care what- he grabbed him by the shoulder, not quite done, and hauled him back towards him. Dan made a move to stop him, but Gavin held out a hand, keeping him back. “What the fuck was that?” He demanded to know, letting his frustration take over. He adopted Gavin’s pitch and accent, exaggerating it grotesquely, making a caricature of him. “Thank you sir, thank you!”

Joel hesitated. “Uh,” he began, but Michael got there first.

“Joel, seriously, go fucking bang Ray or some shit, yeah?” He raged, and the older man did a double take, his eyes comically wide. He opened his mouth to argue back. “Seriously, man, I don’t care what everyone else is saying. I want to talk to your little piece of shit apprentice, yeah?”

“Michael.” Gavin’s voice was perfectly untouched, practically robotic. “You’re making a scene.”

He was well aware of that. Many people were staring, no longer absorbed in work or conversation, and some were muttering, spectating as if the argument was a show for their amusement. He swore colourfully at them all, and they all jumped, wide eyed like spooked animals and moved hurriedly away, giving them privacy. “Look, they’re all gone now. Happy?” He didn’t appear to be, but Michael didn’t care. “I wanna know what all that shit was about, you sucking Geoff’s dick just now.”

Gavin had the patience of a saint, sometimes, but Michael knew he was touching a nerve. “Michael.” He was still calm, clinging to the shredded remnants of his patience. “I’ve been given a job, one that will allow me to get up and do what I want, and I’m happy about it.”

“Oh yeah? You’re not fucking ready for it, Gavin, you know you’re not. And I just fucking told you a couple of hours ago,” He lowered his voice, carefully, hissing like a coiled viper, ready to strike. “I want you to leave the gang. I don’t want you in the firing range. I don’t want to do this anymore, and neither do you.”

Gavin bristled. “You think you can speak for me, now?”

“I think that you’re stupid if you actively want to stay here.” He shot back, firing off his sentences like machine gun fire. “You’re a fucking moron if you want to find this gang and have a fucking shootout-”

“It won’t come to that. That’s Geoff’s job.”

Michael threw his hands up in the air, making noises of pure wonder. “Oh, wow!” His hands flailed in the air. “Well that’s all our fucking problems solved then, isn’t it? Geoff’s going to shoot the crazy motherfuckers. Everything else is now irrelevant!”

Gavin placed both of his hands on his slim hips, and focused his scowl intently at Michael. “You’re trying my patience.” If there was one thing to be said about his new scars, they made him look like a mass murderer when he glared at you. Under the harsh light, it cast shadows across his face, making him look downright horrifying.

“You’re trying mine.” Michael said weakly, his voice almost breaking. His fury was still there, raging, fueled by every single little thing Gavin said but there was shock there too, adoration, everything that kept Michael caring about him. “Seriously, do you know what you’re doing to me right now?”

“Yes.” He said, stiffly, his voice steeled and unfriendly. “Walking away.” With that, he pushed past him, shoving carelessly, and their shoulders slammed together as they passed. Michael almost lost his balance, not expecting the collision, and spun around to face him as soon as he recovered from the shock.

“Gavin,” Michael called after him, utterly exasperated, and his only response was a shout of ‘don’t bother following me’. He stared after him, watching him slip through the doorway and disappear. “Gavin!”

No response.

Dan was still lingering nearby, trailing across the floor like a wraith, and Michael was expecting some clever little quip or verbal assault, but he got nothing. Dan wouldn’t even look at him, and Michael wasn’t sure what was worse.

“Michael.” Burnie called over to him, and he grudgingly turned. “If you’re quite done, we want you over here. We’ve got stuff to do.”

Michael was already 100 percent done with this day, and the sun had only barely risen.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

“Bullshit.” Michael said, very simply, as if it was the end of everything and every single discussion he had since he arguement. It wasn’t.

Burnie glowered down at him, a little red faced, a vein standing out on his temple. He looked like he was seconds away from reaching out and wrapping both of his hands around Michael’s throat and choking the life out of him. To be fair, if someone was acting as shitty as he was to Burnie, Michael wouldn’t have such restraint. He would have already ripped off their arm and beaten them into submission with it.

He had stalked into the meeting like a giant, furiously throwing himself into a chair, scowling bitterly at anyone who dared to come near. His argument with Gavin and the fact the fucker just walked away from him was still fresh in his mind, and he was still in a  fighting mood. He was still furious about Geoff’s decision, even if he had his balls basically torn off by him, and he did not in any way belong to or want to belong to this group. But he had come, slinking along knowing that if he didn’t he would have been hunted down like a dog and forced to attend.

Some of the things said were the most ridiculous things he had ever heard. They had all been told every single little thing they knew about the group trying to fuck them over and to sum it up, they knew no concrete details, only that the group was probably big, potentially quite old, fairly powerful and they had a bone to pick with Geoff. It was guesswork, pure and simple, and Michael let his voice be heard several times throughout the meeting. Burnie ignored him each time, but he steadily grew more and more ticked off, and Michael took childish satisfaction in pressing all of his buttons.

Burnie continued on nonetheless, now giving them a lecture, looking firmly at each of them in turn. They were all listening raptly, while Michael fussed and fiddled, toying with his phone and huffing. Lindsay shot him several dark glares and Joel looked like he was considering assisting Burnie with his murder, but Michael only pulled faces back at them like an angry child and ignored them. Burnie told them all what every intelligent person already knew- never walk around alone, he said, always walk in groups of two or three. It was too risky, now, what with the attacks on Kann and Lindsay and Caleb, and they couldn’t afford any more incidents like those. He told them to stay on their guard, permanently, and treat all strangers and anyone they worked with who wasn’t under Geoff’s command with suspicious. It was all stuff Michael already did, and treated like common sense.

And then, Burnie had handed them all a gun, and told them to always carry it on them to keep them safe, and Michael was officially done with the proceedings.

“Bullshit.” He repeated, shoving the gun away to the empty seat behind him. He had stormed into the meeting so loudly and venomously that everyone had elected to give him his own personal space. No one sat near him, not even Lindsay. They all sat opposite, keeping an eye on him, but rarely interacting with him. “I’m not doing it.”

Burnie crossed his arms against his chest, the vein throbbing a little as his irritation grew. “You’re the only one arguing with me, Michael.” He was being calm and collected, and that only threw fuel onto Michael’s roaring flames. “You’re the only one who thinks this is all a bad idea.”

“It’s not a bad idea, we should have been fucking doing this from the start instead of waiting for all this to happen, but I’m not going to be a part of it.” He replied, spitting fire all over the room. He wouldn’t have been surprised if steam rose from his ears. “Why the hell am I even here? What’s the point?”

That’s when Lindsay spoke up, calling across to him. “Geoff said he wanted you in his group. I don’t know about anyone else, but I trust his judgement. It hasn’t lead us wrong before.” Joel nodded his agreement, but said nothing. Dan was grumbling to himself, rubbing at his head as if Michael’s voice and behaviour was giving him a headache.

Flaring with anger, he mimicked her, sotto voiced. “It hasn’t lead us wrong,” He said, only slightly regretting it when Lindsay’s hands clawed into fists, her nails suddenly seeming as sharp as talons. “That’s such bullshit. It’s all going wrong now, and we’re all pretending it isn’t. But I’m not supposed to be here- I’m a fucking boxer, goddamnit, and I’ve only been used as an agent once or twice. All I want to do is fight for Geoff and not get dragged into your fucking problems every time something rears it’s ugly head.”

“You play an important role, Michael.” Burnie reminded him pointedly. “If we have problems, you have problems too. Everyone knows you work for Geoff, and you bring him a lot of money. If they cut you out, he loses funding. So you would make a perfect first target.” He nodded to himself, agreeing with his own statement. “You need it work with us, here. You’re undeniably our best hand to hand combat fighter, and a great marksman. We need you, you need us. It’s a beautiful relationship, Michael.”

He was right, and Michael despised him for it.

He wished it wasn’t true, and he wished he could up and leave, get Gavin and go, walk out of the door and never return. He didn’t want to fight for Geoff anymore, and he certainly didn't want to risk his life protecting him. And he knew, deep down, Gavin didn’t want to either.

But they had no choice. There wasn’t any way they could leave, especially not know, being in so much danger, sinking in so deep. They needed the backup and protection.

Unless, he thought, they waited until the danger passed, and tried to leave afterwards. It would be impossible right now- but if they both soldiered through the hard times and came out on the other end, victorious, they could find a way to escape.

He tried not to show his line of thought, disguising the sudden perk of excitement he felt. It would be hard, the hardest thing they’d ever do, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

He just had to convince Gavin.

He found it difficult to see past the fog of insulted rage that covered his eyes, even as the excitement slowly replaced it, but he compressed his lips and snatched for the gun, accepting his fate of fighting now, and getting his reward later. He stopped fighting against Burnie. There wasn’t any use to it, not anymore.

They all seemed pleased, duplicate smiles that never quite reached their eyes appearing. Burnie nodded in satisfaction, seemingly placated. “Are you done?” He asked, just in case.

Michael called up his mask and began his act. “Yes.” He gritted out, glaring up at him as if Burnie was the source of all his problems. The older man didn’t seem affected by the intensity of his focus.

“Well, that’s all, folks. Dismissed.” Burnie then called out to all of them, and that was the end of it. For a while, anyway.

Michael had something important to do.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

It was surprisingly hard to find Gavin. Michael thought he knew him better than he knew himself, and he believed he knew exactly where he would have gone. He turned out to be very wrong. He expected to find Gavin in the recreational room, a place built specifically for stressed out members who wanted to relax in a aura of calm and serenity. It was teeming with people, all of them looking like they wanted to tear out their hair- but Gavin was not amongst them. Next, he tried Geoff’s office, not entering for fear of being grilled and ripped apart by Geoff or Griffon. Neither of them were inside, nor was Gavin. He tried the shooting range, finding people who were taking out their frustrations and practising at the same time, and Gavin wasn’t there. He wasn’t too surprised, by this point.

He ended up encountering him by pure chance, walking past the gym and seeing him standing at the table, leaning over it like a tactician over a war map.

Pushing away the haunting, lingering idea that perhaps he didn’t know Gavin as well as he thought, he approached him quietly, stepping into the room. He avoided stepping on the mats, hoping his feet didn’t make too much noise. It didn’t matter that Gavin was here, anyway. It made his plan so much easier, and quicker to put in place.

“Gavin.”

He hated the way Gavin tensed up abruptly at the sound of his voice, the smaller muscles in his arms tightening. But he didn’t turn immediately, as if counting to ten to control his anger. Michael let him have that moment, stopping a few strides behind him, and waited. Eventually, the man turned, and regarded him with disdain.

“What do you want, Michael?” Gavin asked, brisk and professional. He clutched a clipboard in one hand, a pen in the other, and was probably scrawling something down when he was interrupted. “I have things to do. As do you.”

Michael tucked his hands behind his back and toed at the floor a little, suddenly nervous under Gavin’s scrutiny. Everything he carefully planned to say while he searched for him jumped ship, into the crushing black ocean of uncertainty, and now, he was left lost and confused.

He supposed he had to speak from the heart instead of the brain.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry.” He started, and it was a good way to begin. Gavin’s eyes abruptly softened, losing their hard edge, melting down. It was as if he never guessed that Michael was able to honestly apologise. “I was an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.”

Gavin shed himself of his duty, putting the clipboard and pen to one side. “Yes, you were.” He agreed easily. “And no, I didn’t.”

He lowered his head. “I see that now, and I’m sorry. I’ve not been good to you over the last… well, since everything started happening. I’m sorry for that.” He wasn’t sure exactly what to do, exactly what to say- but Gavin solved his problem first, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace. “I’m sorry.” He repeated, feeling like a stuck record, and he rest his head on Gavin’s chest, listening to the lazy, regular thump of his heartbeat.

“I’m sorry too.” Gavin returned, his chin on top of Michael’s head. The man’s wild curls tickled at his chin, but he didn’t pull away. “I suppose I can see where you’re coming from, and I shouldn’t have been so vehemently against you.”

Michael managed a soft chuckle, flexing his fingers against the softness of Gavin’s shirt, enjoying the feel of his warm skin underneath. “We’re both idiots, I suppose.” His lover returned the laugh, clearly agreeing. They remained there, locked together, and even if they stayed that way forever it wouldn’t have been long enough for either of them. But Michael knew he had a duty, and it needed to be done.

“I, uh.” He stepped away from him a bit, and Gavin’s eyes flickered with confusion, almost disappointment. He deflated a little, clearly missing the touch. “I need you to take your shoes off. And your socks.”

Gavin frowned, the sadness washing away. “Why?” He was confused, as Michael expected him to be, but he willingly began to remove his shoes, kicking them off in just a few moments. He left his socks on for a few moments longer, though. Michael was glad he was trusted, even if it was to an extent.

“I want to show you how to defend yourself. Hand to hand. Just in case.” That was Michael’s speciality, he knew, but he also knew that Gavin had never had the experience. And if they were going to war, that needed to change.

He looked openly exasperated, frustrated with him. “Michael, I don’t need to-”

“Please.” Michael interrupted, and Gavin was silenced with his desperation. “Please. It’ll make me feel better.”

His lover pulled a face, frown lines creasing on his once smooth forehead, but he ducked down to pull of his socks without another word. He tucked them into his shoes and Michael removed his own, kicking them off carelessly and pulling down his own socks. Both men dumped them into a heap, and padded across onto the mat.

The punching bag was still broken and left lying uselessly on the mat, as Michael couldn’t find a long enough chain to fix it. He had dumped it, instead, and no one had brought it up or even seemed to notice. He supposed it was the least of anyone’s worries, now. He kicked it away, sending it steadily rolling off the mat, and stood a little off centre. Gavin gave him a wary look, following much slower, and stopping a safe distance away.

“We don’t have the bag, so we’re just going to sparr.” Michael told him, and he shook his head and made an ‘ah-ah-ah’ noise when Gavin tried to protest. “I want to do this. We gotta do this, Gav. You’re not a fighter, and you need to be. In case I’m not around to help you anymore.”

It was a new worry, based off an old traditional concern- one day, Michael wouldn’t be there for him, and maybe Dan wouldn’t be either, and Gavin would have to fend for himself. Michael had always assumed that he would always come back, as he assumed he would just be busy with Geoff or maybe even his family- but the prospect of him being kidnapped or violently killed by this new gang was becoming more and more likely, and he didn’t want the same happening to the man he loved more than anything.

In response, Gavin’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t argue. Michael was grateful for that. Instead, Gavin only stood still, waiting for the lesson to begin. He didn’t look like a student who was particularly eager to learn, with his posture stiff and his lips down turned, but Michael didn’t care about what he wanted. It was more about what he needed.

“Whenever you’re not throwing a punch, you need to keep moving.” He said softly, taking ahold of Gavin’s hips and adjusting his stance, keeping them equal, making sure there wasn’t any extra weight on the other. “It keeps you from getting tired, and makes you a harder target.”

Gavin let himself be shaped like clay, although he didn’t look best pleased, and kept his hands up, shifting his hips along with Michael’s guiding hands. He bent his knees a little when Michael commanded it, and watched when Michael moved opposite him, mirroring his own stance but with experience and expert precision, lifting his own hands. “That’s good.” He praised, eyeing Gavin up and down, and although Gavin knew he wasn’t looking at him like that he couldn’t press down the warm flush in his belly. He tried to think of other, less pleasant thoughts but it was difficult when he had the most gorgeous man in the world standing in front of him with that intense look of concentration. “Okay. Hit me, in the ribs.”

Gavin blinked, dropping his hands and ruining his pose. “Hit you?”

Michael rolled his eyes at him, never moving. “Yeah. This is sparring.” He gestured to them, as if Gavin didn’t know where his ribs where. He had kissed down them enough times. “Not hard or anything, just for practise. You can do it. I’ve had worse.”

I’ve had worse, you patronizing bastard, Gavin almost grumbled, thinking back to his broken rib that had only really just healed, still feeling tender. But he shaped himself up again, adopting Michael’s pose, and took a second to prepare himself before cracking Michael in the ribs, gently.

The man barely flinched. In fact, he looked pleased. “That’s a good start.” He praised him. “We didn’t do the movements, but I suppose it doesn’t matter that much.”

Gavin dropped the hand he had hit Michael with, and shook it, hissing at the sharp pain in his knuckles. It seemed to hurt him much more that it actually hurt Michael. He looked reluctant, and skeptical. “Can I just got for the pressure points on the body? I know where those are.”

“That doesn’t work in a real fight.” Michael shook his head. He had found that out quite quickly and painfully in a fistfight after school when he was fifteen. His mother hadn't been pleased.“They exist, sure, but you can’t get to them properly in a fight. That goes for kicks in the dick, too. It does hurt, like hell, and it’ll fuck them up and send them down to the floor in a few seconds, but it’s hard to get to in the heat of a fight.”

Gavin huffed. “It’s nothing like the movies, then.”

Michael laughed at that, his voice echoing around the room. “It’s nothing like the movies.” He agreed. Nothing was, he found. “Come on, get into the pose. We’ll try it again.” Michael lifted his hands and crouched again, but Gavin pulled a face, frowning deeply.

“I don’t want to.” He took a swift step back, to the edge of the practise mat. He held his arms around himself, around his stomach. “I don’t want to hit you, Michael.”

“Gavin, we don’t have a choice.” He dropped his own stance, his hands dropping to his waist heavily, as if in defeat. He was scowling, and he could feel his temper rising again, waking from it’s short slumber. “You’re acting like a damn child. This isn’t a game.”

“I know it’s not.” Gavin’s hold on himself tightened. “I get how serious this is, but I just don’t like it. I can already tell I’m going to be pants at it, and I don’t like hitting you.”

Somewhere in the space behind his eyeballs, fire burnt, and Michael was swallowed by an all consuming anger. His cheeks flushed red, and his lips pressed together. “Gavin.” He repeated, and his voice was dangerous. “We need to do this. It’s not a matter of whether you want to do it, or whether you like it.”

Gavin protested, saying his name in that stupid way of his, and Michael exploded.

“For fuck’s sake! Can’t you fucking defend yourself?” He stepped forward, swiftly, and thudded his clenched fist against Gavin’s arm, against his bicep. He jumped in alarm, taking another step back before he was halfway standing off of the mat. “Will you quit pussyfooting around? This fucking serious, but you don’t get that, do you?”

“I get it!” Gavin insisted. “I wasn’t bloody born yesterday, Michael, I’m not a fool.”

“Then stop acting like one!” Michael interrupted, always following him. His words were spat, dripping with venom.“Fuck you. Fuckin’ makin’ me care then not doing shit to help yourself. Douchebag.”

“Michael,” Gavin insisted, squirming away, and then Michael went too far. His knuckles cracked against his lover’s ribs, not too hard, still treating him like a fragile little doll- and Gavin yelped and doubled over, the noise trailing off into a whimper, and Michael’s anger immediately subsided, locking itself back inside it’s cage. He dropped his pose, along with the role of Gavin’s teacher, the guilt washing over him.

“Jesus Christ, Gavin!” He stepped after him, this time making his movements softer, and his hands cupped both of Gavin’s hips, trailing up a little to keep him balanced. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. Are you alright?”

Gavin had a hand on his ribs, wincing, and Michael had never felt such regret in his entire life. “I’m alright.” He said, quickly straightening back up. “It’s just a little tender, is all.”

“I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have- I’m a,” He was stumbling over his words, making an even greater mess of everything, and reached up and threaded his hands through his hair, knotting them, yanking at it, making it sting with pain. “Fucking hell.” There was no path to redemption, Michael thought, not here. He was too brutish, his reputation less than sterling, and there was no way he was going to make this right. “Fuck.” His head was swimming, bringing in a stress and panic induced migraine, and he was tormented.

Gavin pulled him close, again, as forgiving as ever and Michael just collapsed in his arms, a heavy weight, almost dragging Gavin down to the floor. He hushed him, quietly, curling around him protectively. Gavin ignored the way his ribs ached under the pressure, and Michael knew he didn’t deserve him. “Love, it’s alright. I’m here.”

Everything hit Michael at once, at that point, and he was suffocating under the weight. All of those years of Michael’s life, living off the bloodstained money from Geoff, often ending up treated by private medical personnel after his opponent couldn't accept the fact they lost, lying to his family about what he did for work and sticking pretty words over the soulless chaos and bloodshed, wearing that metaphorical but still heavy collar that began to chafe as time passed him by. It weighed his head down, making him the perfect picture of submission, making his neck ache. He was trapped by other’s avarice, kept like an animal locked in a cage. His life was full of bullets and punches, so many he had lost count.

He didn’t want this, not anymore.

“I love you, Gavin.” His voice was broken, torn into little tiny shreds, and he found himself crying with shuddering little gasps. Gavin didn’t realise, not at first, but eventually the tears leaked into his shirt and then he was pulling him as close as was physically possible, opening himself up and threading his hand through Michael’s hair, softly scratching. It was like soothing a cat, rubbing at their ears. “I just want us to be out of here, and I want you to be safe.”

“Darling, I want you safe too.” He was crooning into his ear, the breath almost inappropriately warm on his skin. The hairs on the back of his neck snapped to attention. “That’s why we should stay- Geoff protects us. And Dan. We have to roll with the punches, here.”

“He’s protecting us, physically, but he’s siphoning our souls.”

“...I know.” Gavin’s voice was a whisper, soothing and calm in his ear. It helped quell the storm raging inside Michael, and then Gavin was rocking him gently, side to side, like he was a sobbing baby. He would have been embarrassed by it, in any other situation, but he was too broken up to care. “I know, love.”

Gavin waited, keeping rocking him until his tears and choked cries subsided, murmuring soft reassurances and meaningless words to him. It took a long time, and his arms had grown tired and his throat was just as dry as he imagined Michael’s was, but he eventually relaxed, coming back to himself, the tears no longer flowing. He took this chance to draw back, and smile down at him, peppering kisses on his cheeks and chin.

“You’re always going to be with me, and I’m always going to be with you.” He promised, his tone dulcet. “No matter what. You’re my soulmate, Michael, and we’ll always be together, yeah?” The tears were still flowing, and they seemed like they would never stop. Michael cheeks were flushed and his nose was running a little, and he felt like a fool, but he was a fool in love, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Soulmates.” He agreed, taking comfort in that, and the way Gavin took one of his hands and squeezed it gently.

“Come on. Dry your eyes.”

Michael did, reaching up and rubbing at them with the sleeve of his shirt. His still sniffed, but he managed a watery and thin smile when Gavin offered him one. His eyes were red and a little puffy, and he needed to wait until it went down before he could go back to work, but he needed to say something first.

“We’re going to get out, Gavin, and I’m taking you with me.” Michael said, as if swearing to him, and Gavin’s smile was winter itself.


	4. exodus

It was raining that night, and the thick and heavy droplets of water drummed on the tin roofs of the garages that were lined up against the road. It was a steady sound, the lashing rainfall never faltering. It had been like that for about an hour, now, and it was trying the young man’s patience.

He had cowered underneath one of those rooftops,  finding no better place to stand, the part that jutted out just a bit, only barely protecting him from the rain. He was still bone dry, his clothes not yet soaked, but he didn’t know for how much longer that was going to be. He didn’t want to be standing there for much longer- he had important things he could have been doing, for fuck’s sake- but he didn’t want to step out into the wild, abysmal weather.

He could go to his mates, he thought. They would welcome him there- they would no doubt give him a beer and a place to stay, even if it was curled up on the living room floor. He didn’t care as long as he had some form of shelter over his head. He could possibly go to his girlfriend’s- there was always the possibility of a quick fuck, over there, but he didn’t know if she was still pissy at him. He grumbled to himself at the thought, drawing his thin jacket closer, trying in vain to protect himself from the shivers. Women, he thought with a roll of his eyes, can’t live with them, can’t live without them.

The pub was always an option, he reminded himself. He wouldn’t be able to stay the night, and he was too skint to buy as many drinks as he ideally wanted, but maybe by the time they threw him out the rain would have stopped. Or it would have only amplified.

He stared out morosely at the rain, as if accepting his fate, wondering what would have been the best decision. Welcoming mates, possibly angry girlfriend, or the warmth and acceptance of a pub and as much alcohol as he could afford. After only a few beats, he picked what may not have been the most intelligent option, but the one he thought sounded most pleasurable, and he stepped out into the pouring rain, and made his way to the pub.

Visibility, he quickly realised, was shit, and he was saturated in a matter of seconds. The rain was too thick to see very far ahead of him, and that, in the end, was his downfall. He soldiered on, pulling his jacket closer, squinting his eyes to peer through the abhorrent weather.

He only made it a few blocks down, getting to a few rundown buildings he faintly recognised, before some asshole barrelled out of nowhere and body slammed him against one of the walls. The guy was tall, broad shoulder and fairly heavy set, and the kid was short and skinny, and stood no chance. He yelped like a dog, sent flying, crashing into the nearest wall, and he started with pain. A thrum of painful electricity danced up his left shoulder, and he cried out- or tried too, as there was a pale and rain soaked hand covering his mouth, blocking his shout. He was manhandled before he knew exactly what the hell was going on.

He only realised one of the building’s doors was wide open when he was dragged inside it, stumbling over his own feet. It was a relief to get out of the rain, after all that, but he would rather be out and soaking than in the hands of some violent maniac.

Before he could muster up protests or pleas, he was being pinned effortlessly against a wall, his face shoved up to concrete and his shoulder still stinging with pain. “Hey!” He argued, trying to squirm up against the hold. He couldn’t break free. “What the hell, man?”

He couldn’t think about how it was. He didn’t owe anyone money, not that he knew of. And he had tried extra hard not to make any noise in the underworld, not since the last time. He didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, but apparently, in this line of work, it was impossible to avoid.

“Shut up.” His attacker grunted at him, his voice low and deep, and after a moment of consideration, the kid remained silent. “Good start. Stay there.”

He did. He was admittedly too frightened to budge an inch, frozen solid- especially when he heard what seemed to be a gun’s click behind him, sounding too far out of his reach for him to spin around and grab. He let out a low breath, trying not to panic.

The man began to pat him down, searching for something, and the kid couldn’t think of what. He was clean, as far as he knew. No drugs, no secret messages, no nothing. He had been free of those for a while, now, waiting for his next assignment. The man checked the baggy sleeves of his jacket, feeling across, and found nothing. He moved on to his sides and his back, pressing down, feeling for irregularities all the way from his shoulder blades to his hips. He checked his stomach too, pressing up behind him- and then, the man’s hands slipped into the front pocket of his jacket, and judging by the sound of his breath, the man found what he was looking for.

The knife, the kid realised, his eyes widening, and he began to shift again, protests bubbling free- but he halted when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head. He had forgotten about the stupid knife, and now, if this was who he thought it was, he was fucked. “Stop moving, kid. I think we both know what this is about.” He paused, as if hoping to build up the tension. “I’m not afraid to shoot you.”

The kid didn’t doubt that, so he shut up, praying that this stranger wasn’t as clever as he seemed. The knife was pulled out of his hoodie and probably examined, judging by the long stretch of silence. He considered turning around and facing his attacker, but he didn’t fancy getting a faceful of gun anytime soon.

Eventually, the new arrival spoke. “Tell me everything you know, kid.” He demanded. “Everything. If you get lippy with me or I think you’re lying, you’ll end up with a bullet in your brain.”

Playing dumb had served him well over the years, so he played the card again. “I- I, please, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He simpered pathetically. He hated himself for it, but it worked like a charm. “Please, I was just going to my girlfriend’s. I just wanna see her, man.” He turned around while he played his part, and the man didn’t say a word about it. He took in the sight of him, from head to toe, noting that there was no way in hell he could beat this man in a fight. He was probably over double his age, tall and built, with almost salt and pepper hair to still too dark to be very old. His eyes were hard and brown, and severe. “Please.” His eyes flickered down to the gun he clutched in one hand, point at him, with his knife in the other. “Please.”

His full lips quirked, those dark eyes sparkling with thinly veiled amusement. “Nice try,” He complimented, “But I know you’re part of Cobb’s gang, give it up. We know this sigil,” He lifted up the knife, soothing his thumb over the carved handle. “anywhere.”

We?

Despite his best efforts to keep cool, the man tuned into a boy, and he began to panic. “We?” He repeated dumbly, parroting him. “Oh, shit, fuck me, you’re part of Ramsey’s gang!” He wasn’t anticipating this- he had been with Cobb for a fortnight, yet, and he was already getting caught by rival gangs. He had heard the stories of what Ramsey did to his enemies, and he didn’t quite fancy his night ending that way. “God, please, I don’t know shit about Cobb, my friend just told me he was a good guy, looked after his own, you know?” His words were stumbling now, stuttering, and he could barely speak. “Please, please don’t kill me.”

The older man looked at him like he was dirt underneath his boots, his expression curling with distaste. He shoved the knife into his own hoodie pocket, confiscating it, and the kid tried not to cry. That was his only means of protection, and he had let it get taken away from him like candy from a baby. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he scolded himself.

“Look, kid.” He began, sounding fair and even, and the kid stopped sniffling for a moment to listen. “We want to know everything about you. Everything there is to know. And we want you to tell us.” He told him this as if he was asking for nothing at all, as if they were having a normal, everyday, polite discussion. The kid wasn’t having any of it.

He lifted up his chin, squaring his jaw. He doubted it looked very intimidating, but he was desperately trying every trick in the book to save himself. “I’m not telling you shit.” He spat at him, despite the fact his knees knocked together at the thought of being shot and left to die in some shitty old building in the pouring rain in the middle of the night. “You don’t frighten me.” He lied.

The man shrugged, not looking at all bothered. “Well then, you have two options.” He said, practically purring, and the kid’s ears perked up. “Either I shoot you right here and right now,” The man lazily brandished the gun, clearly confident in his handling and marksmanship, and the kid abruptly deflated again. “Or, I knock you unconscious and plant this on you.” The kid watched as the man reached into the other pocket of his hoodie, opposite to the one that held his knife, and pulled out a see through plastic bag, filled with white powder. He didn’t recognise it for a minute, frowning down at it, before it hit home and his eyes widened. He barely choked out an ‘oh my God’ and the man smiled in satisfaction. “Then, I’ll call the police anonymously as a ‘concerned citizen’ and the police will find you hear with cocaine in your pocket. Or I could shoot you. Or you could tell me everything you know and I’ll let you walk free. It’s your choice, I suppose.”

The kid made his choice fairly quickly. He didn’t exactly what to get shot, so that option was blown out of the water fairly quickly, and he didn’t want to end up in police custody. His record was fairly clean, bar some minor theft charges, and he didn’t want a great stain like that on his reputation. His mother would have been furious, his girlfriend would dump his for sure, and his friends would mock him no matter what he said. He didn’t want either of those options.

He knew Cobb wasn’t going to be happy. But he was all for self preservation, and he knew Cobb wouldn’t waste too many of his resources or stick his neck out for some lackey he had known for two weeks. Cobb looks after his own, indeed.

“There’s not many of us, he’s still trying to build us up.” He said, hurriedly desperate to spit out the information as soon as he possibly could. “There’s about 90 of us, give or take a few. It’s not much,  but he’s trying to arm us, train us up like soldiers rather than get a tonne of headless chickens running about. It’s all for you guys- everything’s for you guys. Cobb wants revenge for something that happened a pretty long time ago, and he’s trying to suss out how powerful you guys are.”

There was burning curiosity on the man’s face, even as he tried not to show it. “What did Ramsey do to piss off Cobb?” He asked. “And how are you trying to tell how much power we have?”

“You do boxing fights, or some shit, right?” He asked breathily, and he nodded eagerly when the man did. “Some of the audience members are part of us. We got to get a feel of Geoff’s influence, and to see what everyone says about him. I went once. Bet on some Jones kid. Won a shit tonne of money.” The man glared at him, and the kid stuck to the facts rather than going of on a tangent. The man had a cruel glare. “Cobb just wants to break you, for some reason. Geoff upset him a few years ago, and he’s been biding him time ever since. That’s all I know, I swear.”

He was eyed doubtfully for several moments, and he felt panic beginning to rise again. “We had a deal, man, please. My information for my life, yeah?”

The man huffed, not liking it, but he kept his word. He dropped the gun, a little, trying to make sure the kid didn’t immediately charge him. He put the cocaine to one side, on a little abandoned stool, and he didn’t like the way the kid’s eyes lingered on it. “Yeah, fine.”

The smile lit up his face, and while the man didn’t know exactly how old he was, it made him seem much younger, as if he were in his mid teens. He didn’t know how the kid got involved in a life like this, and he was pretty certain he didn’t want to know. “Thank you,” He said, excitably. “Thank you so-”

The tall man slammed his fist into his face, and it meet his nose, sending his head backwards and cracking against the wall. The boy slumped, immediately unconscious with the force, and crumpled to the floor. The man felt a little guilty, sure, but the kid was a piece of shit and worked for one of his enemies. He didn’t let the guilt plague him for too long.

Joel shook his aching fist, trying to regain it’s feeling, and walked out before he could be caught in an abandoned building with an unconscious kid. He shoved the cocaine that he had stolen from Barbara’s stash with the knife, and tucked the gun away too, not having too far to walk. He just hoped he wasn’t stopped- he hadn’t taken his badge out of fear he would be caught, and his true loyalties discovered.

The rain had lessened, thankfully, and it was more of a drizzle than a downpour. The sky was still dark, thick with grey clouds and overcast, but he didn’t let the poor weather effect his mood.

He called Gus and told him everything he knew, his walk proud, and his eyes bright with satisfaction and victory.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

After only a few hours of working as Geoff’s right hand man, Gavin sympathised wholeheartedly with Joel Heyman, and felt absurdly guilty and regretful over every single thing he had ever said to him or behind his back. He had always said that he should chill out, have a day off, catch up on sleep and quit freaking out.

But God, this job was bloody difficult.

He had to scurry around after his boss, all day, plagued by people who wanted his attention. He had to deem what messages were appropriate and worth his time, which was trying enough, but he had to deliver good news and bad news alike. He had to remember all these little details, names and faces and times and dates and places, all at once, and Gavin found himself stressing out about what would happen if he accidentally mixed up a name, got a message slightly wrong. Everything could have fallen apart, innocents would probably die, and it would all be Gavin’s fault for not remembering a few simple bloody words.

He was just glad, he supposed, that he didn’t have to work with Michael worrying or breathing down his neck. But the stress was replaced by the worry about whether or not he was okay, whether things were going well. It seemed Gavin would never be at ease.

His other jobs, apart from being a messenger and delivery boy, was to plan and organize things. He usually did that anyway, working to plan boxing matches with Lindsay who knew a bit more about the customers desires than he did, but now he was working with people who knew even less than he did, and that made him want to tear his hair out. Not only that, he had to contact others and organize more drug drops, which had been few and far between after the last one went balls up, and weapons trades and other deals. Those were always difficult, especially when it came to keeping them quiet. They didn’t want the police catching wind of it, and dropping by for a surprise visit.

Currently, he was trying to plan a match, between two men he knew next to nothing about. The first was betweNathan Stewart, the man he had seen Michael beat so long ago now and the one he insistently called Popeye, and some alleged brand new, upcoming older gentleman who had allegedly won all of his fights so far. It didn’t interest him, at all, and although he tried to hide it, he was fairly confident that Geoff picked up on his half-hearted behaviour.

“It’s a shame I had to put Michael on the other team.” Geoff mused openly, taking a sip of the same whiskey he always drank.  They stood in his office, Geoff sitting behind his desk while Gavin stood over it, gazing down at far too many sheets of paper to keep track of, with one of the new girls- Emily, he thought- by his side. She was a bright girl, and he liked her, but she didn’t know much about the inner workings of the gang. “We won’t get as many customers in if he’s not there. He’s the favourite, by far.”

Gavin agreed with a gentle hum, feeling himself glaze over at the mention of his lover. He kept doing that. The sound of Michael’s name always distracted him, drawing him back to what they discussed and did earlier. It was consuming his thoughts, and he hated it. He loved thinking of Michael, and their potential future together, but he needed to concentrate. He could afford getting sloppy, not now. His ribs still ached dully, but it didn’t bother him. He felt Geoff’s gaze on the back of his neck, and it made him distinctly uncomfortable, the hairs rising on the back of his neck.

“He’s your favourite too, clearly.” The older man joked, snickering a little at him. “You go all moon-eyed whenever you hear his name.”

Gavin flushed, caught out. Emily barely managed to suppress a smile and a playful giggle by his side, and that only made him blush harder. “I’m sorry.” He apologised. “I’ll try to remain detached.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Geoff assured him. “Be attached. Being in love makes things risky, but it serves as encouragement as well. You want to protect Michael. Michael wants to protect you.” Geoff clucked his tongue, almost uncertainly, before continuing. Gavin must have imagined it. Geoff was never uncertain. “I want to protect my family.”

Gavin thought about his words carefully before he continued. He didn’t know much about Geoff’s private life, for good reasons, and he didn’t want to say something stupid and wrong. “Your wife seems like a strong woman.” He eventually managed. He shifted through the paper, finding a possible connection between a group of men who had attended several of their boxing matches. They always bet on Michael whenever he was fighting, and he never lost a match.

“She is,” Geoff agreed as Gavin ripped a sheet of paper loose, scrawling all of their names onto it. “She doesn’t take shit from anyone. I want her here partly to help, and partly so I can keep an eye on her. She’s an independent woman, but she can get herself into trouble.”

Unsure of exactly how to reply to that revelation, Gavin simply smiled instead, and turned to the girl still by his side. “Emily, can you do me a favour?”

She looked up. “Yes?”

“I need you to go talk to Joel for me. Ask him about these people, and the history of their loyalties.” He pressed the paper firmly into her hand. “Remember everything he says as best as you can, and come straight back to me, yeah?”

She looked a little concerned and overwhelmed at the sudden responsibility, but she looked excited at the challenge. “Okay.” She told him confidently, and went straight for the door- before Geoff spoke up.

“Also, Emily,” Geoff called after her, and she reacted the exact way Gavin would have. She spun back around, jumping to attention, silently awaiting another order. “Don’t tell anyone about Gavin and Michael’s little thing, yeah?”

She nodded eagerly, and turned on her tail and fled before Gavin could snap that it wasn’t a ‘little thing’. Geoff was seriously underestimating them if he thought their relationship was so fleeting. Geoff doing so might have been a good thing, and it might have thrown off suspicion on them when they finally disappeared, but Gavin couldn’t help but be insulted.

He continued pouring over the sheets wordlessly, checking the folders, riffling through them, trying to get a clue of what to do before Emily returned. He was lost, really, but he didn’t want to admit that in front of Geoff. But he supposed it was alright, especially because Geoff didn’t seem interested in letting Gavin get away so easily.

“I know he wants to run away with you.” Geoff said almost as soon as they were alone, quite conversationally, as if they were talking over tea and biscuits. The folder Gavin had clutched to his chest slipped away from him, slapping to the floor, loose sheets billowing silently across the tiles.

Gavin rounded on him, far too agitated to fake innocence. “What?”

“You’re angry at me,” Geoff said, the man reading him like an open book. “Because I said you and Michael were only a little thing.” He shook his head, his smile wolfish. “I know it’s more. I know how much it means to the both of you. And how you two want to leave my protection and be together.”

Gavin was cold with fear, trapped in a room alone with a potentially infuriated predator, and he couldn’t move a muscle. He willed himself to duck down and neaten the mess he had made, but he was frozen, like a statue, and all he could do was tremble.

After a moment, he adapts, and he can handle a faint jest.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you really do know everything.” He laughed uncertainly, his voice weak and breathy, and wondered if Geoff could smell his fear. Geoff laughed at that, or perhaps he laughed at him. It didn’t reassure the younger man either way.

“I do. And I don’t want either of you leaving.” He sat up, gripping his whisky glass in one hand, serving him with a neat and blank stare. “You are a good worker. You’re one of my best. Michael is my top fighter, and brings in a lot of money for me and the others.” He never broke eye contact with him, and Gavin felt like one of Medusa’s victims as Geoff shook his head. “I don’t want you two running away from me. Is that clear?”

Gavin couldn’t argue back. He nodded slowly, as if hypnotized. “Yes.”

“I don’t mind you two being together,” Geoff continued, his intensity never fading. “But if you leave, others might hunt you down and you might sell out my secrets. I trust you two, complicity, but not under torture. I’d never trust Michael to keep my secrets if someone held a gun to your head.” He finished off the glass in one gulp, and he tapped it down on the desk. He drummed his thick fingers across the wood. “I want you to swear to me that you’ll stay.”

Gavin hesitated, torn between two loyalties, and almost too frightened to even attempt to lie. He took a breath, finding it difficult, barely avoiding choking. He knew three things. The first is that he would rather die than live to piss off Geoff to the point where he would attempt to hunt him down and kill him. The second was that he didn’t want to work here, not anymore, not with a potential brighter future ahead. And third, he loved Michael, and he would do anything for him.

It came easier, after recognising those three facts.

“I swear.” He swore to him, and he prayed that Geoff wouldn’t immediately know he was lying. A few beats passed, where there wasn’t a single sound. The blood rushed, untameable in his ears.

If Geoff could sense his bullshit, he didn’t call him out on it. Instead, he leaned back and nodded once, before Emily re-entered, surprisingly quickly, her chirpiness immediately suffocated and extinguished by the simmering tension in the room. She looked between the, worriedly biting her lip, but Gavin just tore his eyes and way and smiled at her, pretending nothing had happened.

The rest of the day passed by without event, before the next day quite literally exploded with activity.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Dan Gruchy was not having a good day.

He had been jerked out of pleasant dreams by the sound of his shrill and insistent alarm, which he seemed to be setting earlier and earlier with each day that trickled past. He had dragged himself out of bed, looking forward to his typical morning fry up- only to find that it was Michael’s turn to do the food shopping, and surprise, surprise, it had slipped his mind. He was worried about Gavin, the man argued, and he had innocently forgotten. He’d do it, tomorrow, he promised. Dan was mouthing the words along with him at this point, it had happened so often, and not even the sound of Gavin’s laughter or Michael’s huffs could bring a smile to his face.

He left the apartment with a rumbling stomach, only having devoured the last tiny apple that remained in the fruit basket. He arrived at work, and of course, everything was mental and jam-packed, and everyone was on edge and at each other’s throats all day. There was still no information about who the hell was trying to muscle in on their turf, and no improvement in the status of the man who had been so cruelly beaten. Michael was still a moody bastard. Monty still hadn’t gone to sleep, and there were a thousand passive aggressive comments about how hard he was being worked which lead to bitter fights, which led to Jack being involved, and no one liked it when Jack was involved.

And Geoff was finally gracious enough to allow some of them to go back home after one of the biggest and most explosive fights Dan had ever been involved in, and Dan was finally allowed to get some proper food and a few hours sleep, after what easily could have been the world’s most horrendous day. And then, on top of all that, barely ten minutes after he walked through the front door alone he was caught in the fucking explosion.

After it had happened, and he had been found groaning, bleeding and barely conscious in the rubble, he was told there was only one bomb, tucked away strategically in an old abandoned room, that was being refurbished since there was a minor fire several months ago. The room was several floors below and several rooms along to the left of Dan’s apartment. It made sense, the police said, because that would have given the ‘builders‘- who had promptly and conveniently  disappeared off the face of the planet with their company strangely shutting down- a chance to plant the bomb. To be frank, after the day he had suffered, Dan didn’t give a shit about any abandoned rooms. He didn’t find himself giving a shit about much. He was just happy he wasn’t dead.

But it worried him, too, in a way- if they didn’t want to kill him, or Gavin, or Michael, whoever they wanted to be in the building at the time, what exactly did they want? Did they want to send them a message?

But either way, he was standing in the middle of his living room with a rumbling stomach, wondering whether he wanted to go shopping and stuff his face with food first, or have a shower to wash away his aches or collapse in the middle of the living room and fall into a coma when it happened.

He didn’t know what was going on, at first. All he knew is that he was standing, quite innocently, and then there was an impossibly loud sound, one that left his ears ringing and squealing, and a feeling of great pressure and a low rumble underneath his feet. The collapse was almost immediate after the detonation, and Dan had very little time to react.

He almost lost his balance, wobbling dangerously on his feet, with only a split second to think ‘what the fuck?’ before half of the floor suddenly collapsed, caving in, and he watched the sofas slip away, down the dark gaping hole that appeared in his living room. He didn’t have much time to lament the loss, remembering all the memories he had with that furniture in particular, before he was stumbling and following it all the way down. He couldn’t hear his own scream, the one that had been torn from his throat. It was swallowed by the crashing and rumbling. His ears were still ringing, feeling oddly numb, and the sensation of the fall was surreal. He slid down, desperately scrambling at nothing, trying to find purchase to save him, but all he achieved was terrible carpet burn on his hands. Soon enough, he was slipping, falling into the abyss.

He tumbled, rolling, losing his sense of what was up and what was down, debris and broken furniture and some of his own personal belongings zooming around before his eyes. He felt like had had been caught in a tornado, helpless and spinning, flying with an unknown destination. He rolled, probably screaming all the while, his heart lifting in his throat, his limbs tingling.

He didn’t know how long he fell for, but he definitely knew when he landed.

He thumped down on the ground heavily, hitting his head heavily upon collision, and something jammed into his back, forcefully breaking the skin, and he threw back his head and howled in anguish. Everything hurt, and it was only going to get worse- his arm landed awkwardly beside him, his elbow striking the hard floor, and he felt the bone break with a sickening crack. He gagged, barely managing a torn cry of pain, and he was deaf to everything, all noise still cut off to him.

He tried to roll onto his side, perhaps to crawl out of the rubble or find shelter, get out of the danger zone, but something pulled at his lower back, and he could feel the warm sticky wetness of blood. His arm was limp, and every move was agony, every breath was a rasping mess. He was trapped, like a butterfly pinned to paper, unable to tear himself free. He felt bile rise in his throat, the pain overwhelming, making his head swim, and he wasn’t sure if he was sick. He tasted something on his tongue, and it tasted wrong, coppery, like blood. He spat it out, and accidentally inhaled dust, sucking it in with his next breath. He choked and he hacked, desperately trying to clear his throat, and he felt like he was about to cough up a lung.

Everything ached and burnt and bled, and he couldn’t do a thing to save himself. He couldn’t call out for help, still trying to rid himself of dust, and he couldn’t hear anything. He was as useless and helpless and a newborn baby, and he hated being so weak

He lay there, struggling not to pass out with the pain, his head screeching with pain and his heart thundering in his chest.  He prayed that there wasn’t another bomb that hadn’t been triggered. He prayed that was the last of it.

It was, but it was by no means the end of his problems.

 

Across the city, a phone that had been placed on silent rattled firmly against an obsessively clean kitchen counter. The room was practically chrome, spick and span, not an object out of place. The owner of the kitchen groaned, feeling like reanimated corpse who wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his final resting place and die again. But he was nothing but persistent- he reached other and grabbed the phone, resisting the urge to gouge out his own eyes.

“Heyman.” Joel answered the call, pulling the lid of a pen out of his mouth. There were bags under his eyes, heavier than usual. His hand still ached from punching the kid, but there was nothing he could do about that. A cup of coffee lay on his kitchen counter, still steaming, half drunk. His tongue was used to being forced to drink boiling coffee quickly. He wanted nothing more than to thud his head onto the table and sleep, but this wasn’t the time.

“Joel.” Gus said on the other line, and he sounded like he was grinning. Joel didn’t like it when Gus grinned. It almost always promised terrible things. “I have news.”

The officer sighed, running a hand down his face, and took a long sip of his coffee. He had a feeling he was going to need it. Please be good. Jesus, please be good. “Developments? What, has someone caught Cobb? Because that would be perfect.”

“Better.” Joel swore Gus almost squealed with excitement and delirious joy- but he never, ever squealed. And especially over not something quite so morbid. “There’s been an explosion at that Free kid’s apartment.”

Joel accidentally dropped the lid, and it clattered to the laminated wooden floor. He dived for it, despite the fact he didn’t need it, and almost whacked his head on the counter during the rescue attempt. He snatched it up, almost slipping off his seat. “An explosion?” He repeated, his eyes wide. “What? Is the kid dead?” The kid was as annoying as hell, and a criminal, but Joel didn’t want him dead. Especially not like that.

“No, but wouldn’t that have been useful?” Gus sighed, the sound billowing down Joel’s line. “There was someone in there- a Mr Daniel Gruchy- but he’s not going to die.” He laughed, a low and almost sinister sound. “He’s definitely going to get arrested, though.”

Joel frowned, and hopped off his seat, leaving the kitchen and padding down the hallway with bare feet, heading for his bedroom. It was just as clean as the kitchen, with a stack of almost completely unused new notebooks lying on his desk. “Why?” He asked, as he began noting everything that Gus relayed to him.

“Well, this is the fun part.” Gus practically purred. “There was a message sent to us just before- literally, minutes before- the explosion, and it was a message for us and two others.” He paused, as if for theatrical effect, and Joel rolled his eyes. It gave him a few seconds to catch up, though, which he was grateful for. “It said ‘Dan Gruchy and Geoff Ramsey.” He paused again. “This is for Carver Driscoll.”

Joel wrote down the name with a flourish, underlining it multiple times and circling it- and then dropped the pen, straightening, and frowned down at it. “I have no fucking clue who this guy is. I’ve never heard his name before.”

“Neither have I.” Gus said, and Joel could hear his smile, and the sounds of him moving around his office, no doubt preparing himself to get ready for the scene of the explosion. “But Gruchy will.”

He did.

“This is for Carver Driscoll,” The police officer standing at the foot of his makeshift hospital bed said monotonously, nonchalantly, the words meaning nothing to him. He sounded bored, a droning machine, and Dan despised him. Saying them that way, like it was a chore was an insult, to Geoff’s spectacular revenge and the memory of his father.

He flared with anger and he wanted the pound the officer’s face in, but he couldn’t do anything. He was hauled out of the remnants of his home after God only knew how long, barely conscious, his body blazing with unadulterated agony. His arm was bound, his back was covered, and he had been doped up to the eyeballs. He was comfortably numb, enjoying the pleasant buzz while he still could, before it faded away. Everything still waxed and waned- the police officer didn’t seem to have a face, and the different shades of blue from his uniform all merged together, mixing and shifting. He could only curl his hands now, a slurred and rippling growl coming from his throat. He would have sworn and cursed their names if he could.

He was going to be arrested in connection to the explosion, carted off to prison as soon as he was out of the hospital, and then they would find out everything there was to know about Carver Driscoll and the way Dan killed him, carved him up and enjoyed every second of it.

A cold, heavy feeling settled into the pit of Dan’s stomach, and it took all of his willpower not to scream.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Michael had never seen Gavin so angry, not ever. He thought he had seen Gavin furious when he found out about his apartment being trashed, or coldly furious when Michael shouted at him for accepting Geoff’s job as second in command- but it turned out that wasn’t it. That wasn’t Gavin when he found out his best friend had been almost killed in an explosion that might have just been meant for him, and arrested by the police.

This was Gavin, livid, red faced and screaming and violent.

He had no idea what to do. He was working with Lindsay when a worryingly young brunette- Emily, he thought she said- had dashed up to him, lost and full of fear, and practically got on her hands and knees to beg with him to follow her and calm ‘him’ down. He had followed after a moments hesitation, all the way to Geoff’s office. But he barely needed her guidance, after they passed the rec-room. He could hear Gavin’s ranting all the way from there.

A part of him hadn’t wanted to deal with it- it was sick of drama, and wanted nothing more of it, but the overwhelming majority of him was scared for Gavin, and instantly wanted to protect him, find what had hurt him so badly and squash it for him. He urged Emily to hurry up, but he surged in front of her, reaching Geoff’s office long before she did.

Michael found him, and he was a walking, talking thundercloud of rage and fury, and God have mercy on whoever blundered into his path. He left mayhem in his wake, crushing everything, and Michael had no idea how to calm him down before something terrible happened. He didn’t even have any idea of what happened.

Even Geoff seemed spooked at the sudden personality switch. If it were anyone else, Geoff would have smacked them down in a second, like he had done with Michael, but Gavin was impossible to predict now, and Geoff obviously didn’t want it to get any worse. As soon as Michael arrived, he practically pushed his lover at him, telling him to not bring him back before he had calmed down.

They stood in the rec room now, emptied of other people once they laid eyes on Gavin who might as well have been frothing at the mouth, and Michael was still as clueless as ever. Gavin’s fury hadn’t diminished, still ranting and raving, and by the time Michael got a word in edgeways and managed to find out exactly what had happened, he was almost just as pissed off as Gavin was.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Was the first thing he managed, and Gavin concurred wholeheartedly. The boxer stood still, watching as his lover paced around the room like a hungry and furious lion in a too small cage. “God, Gavin.”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it firmly. He thumped around the room, stomping with angry precision. “I’m so fucking angry, Michael, I’ve never been so mad in all of my life, and I just can’t control it. They destroyed my fucking home, Michael. They hurt my best friend.”

In contrast, Michael was mild. It was a role reversal he hadn’t expected, and it made him feel small, antlike. But he understood that feeling, more than Gavin knew. “I understand.” He told him, and Gavin snorted with disbelief. “I do,” He insisted. “It’s unfair, and it hurts, and you want nothing more than to run to his side and heal all his wounds, right?”

“Yes.” Gavin said, and he sounded relieved, glad that someone understood him. He looked up at him with those beautiful, vibrant green eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

If Michael didn’t know better, he would have been overwhelmingly jealous about the sheer dedication and possessiveness Gavin was showing towards Dan. But he did, and he smiled at his progress. “I’ve felt that way before,” He confessed. “When the bastards shot you.”

He felt like the entire journey had come full circle, and it felt strangely like a fairy tale, with some moral at the end to teach a child in preparation for the rest of it’s life. Gavin was shot, and Michael was too possessive, leading to emotional and romantic roubles. Then, Dan was hurt, and Gavin was intending to be too possessive- and Michael and Gavin were both shown the error of their ways. It felt ridiculous, but oddly therapeutic. Gavin saw it too, and he laughed, shaking his head.

“That’s bizarre.” He rubbed at his scar, trailing the lines from his cheek and down his throat, along his collar bones. “That’s utterly bizarre.”

He was calmer now, much calmer, and Michael could appreciate that. They were both on each other’s levels, and there was no reason for either to shout. The air was mild, but still flickering with a tension that Michael wasn’t positive that he could undo.

It was Gavin who eventually made the first move, when Michael didn’t have the strength to. His face was still crinkled with deep thought, musing on the situation they had found themselves in through no fault of their own.

“Michael.” Gavin was sobered, no longer joking or laughing, all traces of the things Michael loved about him long gone. “Michael, we need to get out of here. As soon as this is done.”

Michael made a twisted sound of agreement, stepping forward and wrapping his arms securely around Gavin’s waist. He kissed him sweetly, hoping to keep him calm, appreciating the heat of his skin. He hoped he was healing the hurt, and by the soft sigh that Gavin let loose, he was. When the pulled apart, Gavin slumped, his head leaning against Michael’s shoulder. “We need to work with Geoff. Then we need help Dan.” His grip on his lover tightened, and he got the idea that Gavin never intended to let go. “And then we need to run.”

“That’s one hell of a to do list.” Michael said lamely, not good at remaining serious in intense moments, but he got a low chuckle in return, and it was worth it in the end.

“I need to make the right preparations, then.” He heard Gavin murmur. They remained embracing for a while longer, enjoying the feel and the scent and the warmth of one another, until he pulled away with a mild sigh. Gavin looked deep in thought, a little sad, and Michael studied his face for a moment, analysing him. “I won’t go back to Geoff just yet. But you should go back to Burnie. They’re probably worrying.”

“Let me know when you make them.” He made him promise, and Gavin nodded, now determined. He rubbed a thumb along his arm, soothingly.

“I need to go back to work.” Gavin told him, and he parted from him with one last kiss, leaving him with the lingering intuition that he had missed something important, and that things were only going to get worse from here on out.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Joel recognised the fact he had been summoned to Geoff’s office, and he understood the severity of the situation. He knew that Geoff wanted him there as soon as was humanly possible, because that man hated feeling like time had been wasted- but he could wait for a little longer. he could hear Gavin raving madly in his office, screaming about something or other, and he had a little limpet by the name of Ray clinging to him insistently.

They listened to the incomprehensible shouting, their faces holding twin expressions of faint horror, and neither wanted to go anywhere near Geoff’s office for a multitude of reasons. One of Joel’s was that he didn’t want Ray getting into any deeper trouble- knowing too much was a danger- but he couldn’t shake the man off. He once loved Ray’s seemingly inherited ability of telling when someone was stressed. In the early days of their relationship, whenever Joel came home a long day exhausted and starving, Ray would always take care of him, creating some quick and simple but perfect meal, running him a bath and soothing him afterwards, letting all his stress melt away, like it had never existed. Joel loved him for it. But now, it was a bother. Ray always knew when something was wrong, and as the stress of being a double agent only intensified, there was always something wrong.

“That doesn’t sound fun.” Ray commented as the shouting only intensified, and Joel thought it was the understatement of the year. Michael had stormed past them a second or two ago, without so much as a glance in their direction, and the two of them prayed that he was going to sort out whatever had happened. They had seen the gun in it’s holster at his waist, and Joel was reminded all too uncomfortably of his.

The yelling gradually faded into nothingness, seemingly getting further away, and Ray relaxed entirely while Joel only did minutely. He had too much to be stressed about, and Ray was tuning into it, to his despair. The younger man looked up at him. “Joel, you alright, man?”

He faked a smile, looking down at him. He dared to press a dry kiss to the centre of his forehead, knowing the hallway was empty, “I’m fine, Ray.” He promised. “I’m just a little stressed out about everything. It’s getting a bit much.”

“I don’t blame you.” Ray said, but his answering smile shifted into something languid, practically lucid. “Maybe tonight we can do something about that.”

Joel’s weary body practically collapsed and wept at the thought, and his heart lightened considerably. After everything, maybe a peaceful night was all he needed. Assuming there wasn’t another explosion, or shooting, or some other horrible event that demanded his attention. “Maybe we can.” He replied, somewhat coquettishly, stepping just that little bit closer, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to Ray’s waiting lips. He wasn’t sure what it was about Ray that made him that little bit more daring, but he thought he liked it.

But he had a job to do, and it needed doing now, before Geoff hunted him down. He withdrew, hating Ray’s disappointed whine. He despised having to push him away like that, but he couldn’t afford to let Geoff know about them, or let any of them know about Joel’s true loyalties, as warped as they currently were.

“I need to go.” He murmured, and despite the look of disappointment in his eyes, he knew Ray understood. “I’ll see you at mine?” Ray agreed with a smile, and a parting, mischievous kiss, before he was gone, and Joel found himself knocking gingerly at Geoff’s door.

It swung open almost immediately, and Joel found himself ushered inside quickly, the door getting shut firmly behind him. He didn’t think it was suspicious- certainly odd, yes, but considering how Gavin had just lipped off and the sudden turn of events with Dan, Joel would have been on edge too if he were Geoff.

Joel stood directly in front of Geoff, tall and only a little confident, watching his fake boss. He looked furious, not explicitly at Joel, but at everyone. Jack, who stood by the door still, looked roughly the same. He wondered faintly if there was something he didn’t know about, but he dismissed the thought quickly. He knew everything.

“I want you to tell me about Dan Gruchy, and everything that’s happened.” Geoff demanded, and Joel obeyed. He told them everything he knew, he told it true.

“A bomb was planted in Gruchy’s apartment building, the one he shares with Michael Jones and Gavin Free.” He stated the obvious, first, setting the scene. “It was three floors below, on the second floor, and six rooms along his to the left. When it detonated, the floor caved in, and Dan fell all five floors. He survived, but has severe injuries. Currently, I’m not sure if it was a failed attempted murder- perhaps they didn’t know where they lived and tried to guess- or another message.”

Jack spoke up from behind him, his voice grizzling, as deep as ever. “Another message?” Joel nodded, eager to impress.

“A message was sent to the police only a few moments before the explosion. It was for you, sir.” He turned back to address Geoff directly. “It said, ‘Dan Gruchy and Geoff Ramsey, this is for Carver Driscoll’.” He waited for a moment, to see if there was a reaction, and there was.

Joel had no idea what the words meant, what the name Driscoll was to Geoff, but judging by his face, it was important. Geoff distant eyes suddenly blazed with unadulterated, smoldering, passionate rage, and frown lines appeared all over his face. His grip on his whiskey glass tightened to such a degree, Joel was surprised it didn’t shatter and cut into his palms. Joel hesitated, before asking. “Can I ask what that means, sir?”

Geoff released his grip on the glass, dropping it to the table, and he pushed his wheeled chair back, rubbing at his tired eyes harshly. He let out a sigh before replying. “Carver Driscoll was a man I killed long ago.” He admitted, and his eyes were teeming with ghosts. “Daniel Gruchy helped me do it. I thought we wouldn’t have consequences for this.”

“This is Cobb’s work, isn’t it?” Jack asked quietly, from the back of the room, and Joel’s heart skipped a beat. A connection.

“No doubt.” Geoff replied, gruffly, settling back in his chair. He planted both of his elbows on the desk, scooting forward, lacing his hands together and settling his chin on them. He stared out at nothing, blankly. Joel sent Jack a questioning look, and the man took over.

“Carver Driscoll ran an old gang, a couple of years ago.” He explained, and he sounded miserable and exhausted. “We never fucked with them, and they never really fucked with us, until they killed one of our old members, not realising who he used to run with. This member was an old family friend of Geoff’s, and the father of Dan Gruchy. So, we worked to destroy Driscoll’s gang in retribution, and we killed him and weakened his group. But we never completely destroyed it.”

A twisted form of mercy, Joel assumed, but he didn’t see the point. “So, this Cobb…?”

Geoff answered that. “Driscoll’s second in command. He must want revenge. He must have spent years waiting for the perfect moment.” Geoff huffed out a laugh, and his expression was one of disbelief. “Mad bastard.” Joel wasn’t sure of Cobb was meant to take that as an insult or a compliment, or a mix of both.

Joel’s mind was racing, and his brain was taking in every word they said, memorizing it. If he could get away from them and contact Gus, the police could find out more about them, and then his job would be one hell of a lot easier. It would be a matter of biding his time before breaking free, and all of his time here would be one long, hellish dream.

But he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to Ray.

Geoff then looked up at Jack, and he was smiling for some reason. Joel guessed it was out of pleasure, having finally figured out who they were fighting instead of firing shots in the dark- but Joel had never been so wrong. “Bring him in.” Geoff commanded, and Joel’s curiosity was piqued.

He turned in time to see Jack opening the door, and gesturing to someone waiting outside. After a moment of rustling, Joel was alarmed to see Ray, his eyes guarded and suspicious. As soon as he laid eyes on Joel, he relaxed, but only minutely. “Hey.” He greeted, somewhat shyly. “What’s up?”

He didn’t get an answer, and silence reigned. Jack shut the door behind the man, firmly again, and walked up, standing in the middle of the room, a couple of steps away from Joel. Joel and Ray exchanged a glance, equal amounts of confusion in their eyes.

It took another second for realisation to dawn, and Joel only had time to think one word- fuck- before Geoff was up, a gun in his hands that pointed directly at Joel, and Jack was drawing his own, aiming for Ray.

“Tell me everything you know.” Geoff demanded, his voice thunderous, and then it was the end of days.


	5. no end, no beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it
> 
> hope you enjoyed
> 
> song is from 'no end, no beginning' by poets of the fall

Ray looked between them all, tearing his stunned gaze away to stare with large and clearly frightened eyes, gazing at each of them in turn. He acted like a defenceless child, surrounded by horrific monsters that emerged from the deep and dark shadows underneath his bed. His head kept spinning like a carousel, turning as if he was watching a particularly competitive tennis match, but Joel couldn’t find it in himself to laugh at the thought.

The man eventually stuttered out a broken, mangled ‘what?!’, his voice a pitch higher than usual, caused by obvious, chilled fear. He expected a response that never came, looking between his secret lover and the man who pointed a gun at him, for seemingly no good reason.

Without needing prompting, Joel raised both of his hands, showing Geoff and Jack his palms, slowly lifting them to the ceiling as if in prayer. He didn’t answer Ray’s startled question- no one did, the entire group ignoring the spluttered sounds of utter confusion he made. “What the hell are you doing?” Joel asked Jack directly instead, his voice low, hoping to play along like nothing was wrong, nothing was suspicious. He didn’t need to fake the fearful quiver of his voice- that was all too real. “What the hell is this?”

No dice. The ploy didn’t work.

“I think you know full well what this is all about, you son of a bitch.” Geoff’s voice no longer had that smooth and professional air, like it always did. It was loud and uneven now, for the first time in Joel’s memory, and it wasn’t actually as terrifying as he always thought it would be. It was almost reassuring that Geoff was breakable, too- he was human, and had emotions just like everyone else. It was the fact Ray and him were both in danger of being immediately and violently killed that truly terrified Joel. “You know full well.”

He considered trying again, wondering if persistence was the key- but he decided that would just piss Geoff off, and so he chuckled, the sound bitter. He hated how Ray visibly recoiled at the sound. “I suppose I do.”

Jack growled, the sound purely primal, rumbling from his chest. He clearly itched to pull the trigger, but like any good slave, he awaited his master’s order. Joel just had no idea why he was pointing at Ray, instead of having both guns drawn on him.

“You’re a fucking traitor.” Geoff accused him, jabbing his pistol at him once as if to emphasise his point. He heard Ray draw in a breath, and he couldn’t bear to turn around and see the look of stark betrayal on his young face.

“Yeah.” He said, simply. “Can I ask where I fucked up?” He tried to play it cool, trying his best to limit the way his hands evidently shook. He didn’t want them to know just how scared he was.

Jack barked out a laugh, and Joel jumped when it sounded almost precisely like a shotgun blast. He almost laughed at himself for being so pathetic. “You only fucked up everywhere.”

“Well, I had a fooled for a couple of months, didn’t I?”

“You had me fooled.” It was Ray’s voice this time, and he was defeated, utterly broken, and Joel wanted to keel over and die. Gus’ voice came back to him, the memory of having no guilt, and everything that could hurt did.

“I’m sorry, Ray.” Joel told him, and it was the most genuine and honest he had ever been in his entire life.

Geoff only sneered. “Cute of you. Trying to defend your little friend, are you?” He shook his head. “We know you’re both traitors. Don’t try to cover it up.”

“I’m not!” Ray burst out, his tone laced with panic. Joel winced at the sudden explosion of volume. “I didn’t know anything about it, this is completely new to me!”

“I bet you didn’t.” Geoff simpered sarcastically, patronizingly, and Joel came rushing to his defence.

“He didn’t. I swear. It’s just me. We…” He sucked in a breath and carefully licked his drying lips, nervously. He didn’t want to say this- he never meant for it to come to this- but if it saved Ray’s life, it was worth it. “We started a relationship, because he liked me but I wanted information. He didn’t realise I was playing him the entire time.”

Ray whimpered, the noise almost muffled by the sound of Geoff’s cruel chuckles, and Joel hung his head. He wanted to insist that it turned into genuine care, because it did gradually until Joel was practically head over heels, but they never would have believed him. Not in a thousand years.

“You’re a terrible person.” Geoff tutted, shaking his head at him scoldingly. Ray had sagged in Joel’s peripheral vision, staring uselessly down at the floor. Joel’s own heart ached in empathy. “But you’re also a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying.” He insisted, and Geoff laughed in his face.

“And I’m supposed to believe you? Traitor?” He said, his words occasionally interrupted with giggle like laughter, and Joel wanted to scream out a curse. The situation was bad, to start with, and it was gradually getting worse, each second passing amplifying his apprehension. And he had no idea how to deal with it.

But then, he shifted where he stood- and an idea sparked in his brain, light flaring, his eyes gleaming. The weight of the gun at his hips, hidden under his jacket, brushed against the thin fabric of his shirt, and he suddenly remembered it’s existence. His heart lightened with excitement, and he barely pushed down the instinctive urge to grin. It was risky, and it needed to be done quickly, but it was an escape nonetheless. It would save him, and Ray if he was fast enough.

God, he hoped he would be fast enough.

“Just tell me how you knew, before you kill us.” Joel snapped furiously, forcing venom into his voice, and Geoff took the bait as he knew he would.

“We laid a trap for you, Heyman, and you blundered right on into it. But we only laid it after you fucked up.” They never lowered their guns, their concentration utterly flawless. “The first thing I realised was only recently- Barbara came to me and reported that a bit of cocaine had gone missing from one of her stashes. She had seen you lingering about earlier. You’re not as stealthy as you think you are. She reported you, assuming you were addicted, but you’re not the kind of man to get into drugs, no matter how weird we all saw you were. I got Ryan to search through your house, looking for the drugs, and not only did we find it, we also found a lot of notes of information you’d been withholding from us, and more importantly, this.” He reached down with one hand, and Joel would have made his move if it wasn’t for Jack still standing there, and searched through his desk drawer. He pulled his hand out, clutching something, and didn’t bother shutting the drawer afterwards. He lifted the object up, so everyone could see.

Joel’s throat went dry, and his stomach felt like stones had dropped into it. The knife he had taken from the kid was clutched in his hand, and from here, he could see the sigil as clear as day. He had left that on his bedside cabinet, assuming he was safe. Joel could now also safely assume that he was a fucking idiot for assuming that.

“I thought about it, thinking about all the weird things that had happened recently that didn’t have an explanation, and I remembered that someone had called the cops on Michael’s house, reporting the crime even though I never ordered for that to happen. It didn’t take that long for me to put everything together and theorise that you were working for the police.” His smile was smug, almost unbearably so. “So I worked with some others and I planted a trap. The message. You were told it was made public, so you thought you could safely share it with me. It wasn’t, so you must have spoken to someone in the police about it.”

Joel thought it was impossible for his stomach to drop further, but it did. “You’re fucking kidding me.” He said, his voice utterly dry, almost monotone. “Gus?”

Geoff shook his head at that, and Joel’s relief was only minor. “No, my agent told Gus it was made public too, so he wasn’t at all aware. If it was Gus, I would have known you worked with the police immediately.”

He felt like a fool, but that wasn’t his main problem right now. He huffed out a broken laugh. “Great. So I royally screwed up.”

Geoff nodded along, pleased he had gotten the idea. “Basically, yeah. Now I want you to tell me everything you know about Cobb, and everything you told the police about us.”

Joel did, and by the time he was done Ray’s face was blanched with horror and shame, and Joel was wondering if Jack and Geoff’s arms were ever going to get tired from holding up their guns. He had told them everything that the kid had told him, about their numbers and notable members, their training, everything. He told them what he told Gus, and by the end of it, Geoff looked somewhat irritated, but not like he wanted to vomit with fear, so Joel guessed that he didn’t give a damn.

“That’s nothing to worry about.” Geoff shrugged and Jack made a noise of agreement.

“Should I go and spread this information around?”

Joel straightened at that. Yes, do, leave me and Ray with him!

“No.” Geoff immediately replied, shaking his head and Joel muted the curse that struggled to break free. “I can’t trust anyone else right now.” He scratched the back of his head, thinking fast, and growled softly. “Jack, kill Ray. I’ll kill Joel. We’ll show the police what happens when they try to send spies.”

“God fucking damnit, Geoff, I didn’t know!” Ray practically howled without any warning, surprising the lot of them, and Geoff turned to glare, tearing his eyes from Joel, opening his mouth to yell back some insult that the four of them never heard.

Joel dropped his raised hands and drew while both the gang members were distracted, and his gun was in his hands in moments, the safety flicked off and his finger squeezing the trigger. He aimed for Geoff first, and shot twice, just to be sure that the bastard wouldn’t survive. Geoff recoiled upon impact, and was sent sprawling to the floor, disappearing behind his desk. Joel didn’t feel a single second of guilt before he rounded on Jack, who only had a split second of his own to spin around and lift his weapon again, and that was no time at all. He deliberately didn’t aim for anywhere too vital, knowing that Geoff was the only one who truly mattered, but with the speed of his turn he was a little off. He tried to shoot the kneecap and shatter it, to render him immobile, but the bullet pierced his leg instead, a few inches underneath. Either way, he went down with a twisted sound of surprised pain, and Joel was happy enough.

Then, he rounded on Ray, his gun still up and ready to be trained on the next, and then he finally paused.

They stared at each other for several wasted seconds, and Joel knew he needed to run because people would have certainly heard those shots, but he couldn’t bear to tear himself away. Ray had been crying, tears rolling silently down his cheeks, and Joel wanted nothing more than to step forward and wipe them away. But he knew he couldn’t, because his touch wasn’t welcome, and Ray thought their relationship was lie.

To be fair to him, he was half right. It was based on a lie. Joel lowered his gun and he saw Ray let out a heavy breath of relief, but his eyes were still full of pain and fear and betrayal, the types of emotions that stayed with you until the end and couldn’t be wiped away with ease.

“I do love you, you know.” Joel told him, firmly, but he didn’t stay to see Ray’s reaction. He tossed the gun to the side, near where Jack was now struggling to get up, and fled.

He didn’t know how he got out of the building. All he knew is that there was lot of running and hiding involved, and everything else was a blur, full of confusion and too much panic for Joel’s liking. Either way, he escaped unharmed, and grabbed his phone, blindly dialing a number and being amazed when he managed to call the right person.

“Joel?” He was deliriously happy when Gus picked up, listening to the sound of his slightly confused, tired voice.

Joel felt his knees buckle, and he thought he was going to cry with relief. But he wasn’t out of the woods just yet. “Gus, there’s a traitor in the police force.” He told him, and he ran for the nearest police station, leaving his recent past behind him.

He didn’t look back.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

After hearing yet another person’s heavy footfalls on the cement, the girl stopped dead and turned her head back, pulling her scarf away from her face and baring her teeth furiously. That always worked- it made her look beastial, like a starving, feral animal. She liked using it to her advantage. “If either of you two make any more noise, I swear to God, I’ll rip your fucking feet off.” She hissed at them, making sure only the two behind her heard her voice.

The two exchanged a look, then quickly realised they couldn’t see their expressions under the makeshift masks they wore. Instead, one of them- she couldn’t tell which was which for the same reasons- shrugged helplessly, and the other one turned to her. They pulled their mask apart, revealing their face, and she saw that it was Alex. “Will you get off my case?” He demanded, just as furious as her. “It’s hard to be quiet.”

“Oh, well then!” She said in a fake, chipper voice. “That’s okay! You can potentially get us caught just because being quiet is a bit difficult for you!” She flipped him off, and he grumbled at her, and their third companion decided to speak for themselves.

“If you’d all stop arguing all the time, maybe we won’t get caught.” Isabelle was the sensible one, the one that always had the best ideas and always said the right thing. But she didn’t like taking charge, so she let Alice do it instead. If she knew she and Alex would butt heads and bicket not only the whole way to the building, but also on the way sneaking up to it, she would have taken the leadership and chosen two other people. “So shut up, yeah?”

Alice made a noise of frustration and turned away. They were quickly approaching a wall of what seemed to be a garage, and she checked her surroundings carefully before darting forward, leaning against it, making sure not to make a sound. She held out her hands to the others, signalling for them to wait, before creeping up to the door of the garage and leaning in, carefully. It was empty, void of life. There was nothing of interest inside, either, so she pulled her head back and gestured for them to follow. They did, and they all slowly crept past it, just in case, and made their way to the actual wall of the building. They huddled up against it, quietly moving along it, and Isabelle was pleasantly surprised about how stealthy and patient they were now being. She wondered when it would all be ruined by someone being an idiot, and exactly who would bring about their downfall.

“We’re not meant to go inside, remember?” Alice breathed, and they all nodded. “Just check around the perimeter. Look for more weakspots.”

“We weren’t supposed to actually come inside when we found a weak spot.” Alex pointed out, and although the two girls knew he was right, they ssh’d him without a moments hesitation.

“We’re in now, so let’s just get it done and report back, yeah?” Alice waited until both of them had signalled their approval and agreement, and then they heard the gunshots.

There were two, short and loud and blasting in the silent air, both in quick succession and they sounded worriedly close. After a short pause, roughly about a second, there was another lone shot fired. Then, there was nothing. They held their breath and waited for another- but there wasn’t one.

Alice pressed herself closer to the wall, her eyes flaring open in panic. She gestured for the other two to hurry up, and they joined her against it, hoping that whatever was happening would kindly stop happening, and immediately. They waited for more, just in case, giving it a full minute, but all they could hear now was shouting.

“Maybe it’s just a really passionate training session?” Alex suggested, but Isabelle shook her head. She dared to peek back at where they came, but she saw nothing in the darkness. She wished she was better prepared, feeling entirely too vulnerable for her liking.

“I told Marko that we should have brought weapons, but no, of course not, he said we wouldn’t need them.” Alex snarled, reacting to the shots with rage rather than fear. He knew they had the knives, but what good would they do in a gunfight? “What do we do?”

“We wait.” Isabelle told them, and her tone booked no argument, even if the two wanted to. They pressed themselves to the wall as close as they could, and Isabelle took out her knife, flipping it and revealing the blade. She didn’t particularly want to use it, but she had a feeling she wouldn’t have a choice.

It was the waiting that lead to their downfall.

The sound of voices, male and female steadily got closer, but none of them fully noticed. They did notice, however, when a piece of thin metal snapped underneath someone’s boot, and it wasn’t any of theirs. Alice sucked in a breath, catching with fear, and Isabelle hushed her once. Gingerly, carefully, she moved along the wall and peeked around, checking for a route of escape. But she was seen.

“Hey!” A woman’s angry voice shouted, and Isabelle swore, drawing back, stumbling into Alex. They dithered, unsure of how to escape without being seen again, and Lindsay Tuggey rounded the corner seconds later, a gun in her hand, her eyes bright with rage. She pointed it at Isabelle, the one at the lead, but kept her eyes on the other two. “Who the fuck are you?” She demanded to know, but she didn’t wait for a reply. “Michael, there’s kids here!”

“We’re not kids!” Alice yelled back, famous temper flaring, but Alex elbowed her in the gut, and she fell silent, grudgingly. In another second, Michael followed Lindsay around, and as soon as his eyes fell on the trio he tensed up, his face falling into a scowl.

“Who the fuck are you?” He mirrored his companion. He edged around them, pinning them there, blocking off all means of escape. He saw the terrible masks, and his suspicion wasn’t that great- kids, he assumed, sneaking in. But they couldn’t be let go with a warning, not after such a security breach.

He wondered where Joel had went, and just what would happen to Ray, but that was a past problem. He was faced with a more important one right now.

Especially when one of them, the girl Lindsay had spotted, leapt at his companion with a shriek, a kind of battle cry, and cold steel flashed in her hand.

Lindsay jumped, recoiling, but immediately opened fire out of instinct and three bullets later Isabelle went down heavily on the concrete, her black shirt stained with barely visible red. Alex jumped backwards, terrified, scrambling to get away from the corpse and Alice simply shrieked, the noise shrill.

“Calm the hell down.” Michael demanded as Lindsay checked the woman was dead, ducking down to talk a pulse. There was none. She moved on to search the body, as the girl’s two companions watched on in horror and fear. “You two, take off those piece of shit masks. Do it now.”

Without a seconds hesitation, evidently fearful that they would end up the same way, the two both ripped off their masks, dropping them to the floor. Michael glared at them both, brows narrowed- then he shifted his gaze to Alex, and his mouth dropped open. He took in how tall he was, and just how familiar he seemed- then it clicked, the pieces falling together easily, and his fury multiplied. “I fucking know you, asshole.”

Lindsay only looked up for a split second, her features crumpled in confusion before she continued. She checked the girl’s stomach, patting heavily, searching for weapons or any possible identification. “What?” She asked him, distracted with her work.

Alex glowered at him, searching his memory for any kind of confrontation or meeting with this man who seemed to be a complete stranger, and he shook his head. “I have no idea who you are. Care to explain?”

“A couple of months ago? I walked out of a bar with my boyfriend and we got into a fight?” He grinned at the memory, recalling how good it felt to punch the man directly in the face, and how much better everything felt with Gavin afterwards. He struggled not to lose himself in the old memory, of better times. “I beat the crap out of you, and you ran away with your little buddies.”

Recognition was plain across his face, along with sudden embarrassment, evident on pink cheeks. “You’re the fag from outside that bar.”

Michael looked just about ready to plant his face into his hand in reaction to the sheer stupidity he was being faced with, or to plant his fist into the boy’s squashed face again. He noted the small scar that ran just along one of his dark and thick eyebrows, and he hoped he gave it to him. “You’re calling me a fag again, while I’ve got a gun? While you’re trying to sneak in to my place of work? Are you a moron?”

Alice took her chance. “Apparently.” Alex rounded on her, insults already prepared on his tongue, but he was interrupted by Lindsay before he could fire them.

“Michael.” She sounded excited and satisfied, and Michael shifted his eyes, keeping the two in his peripheral vision. He didn’t want them getting any more ideas. He saw her reaching over, offering something to him, and he took it in his free hand. It was a penknife, light and sharp with an easy grip hold- and there was a familiar sigil carved into it. He smiled with pleasure. “They’re Cobbs’.”

“Perfect.” He said, flipping the blade back safely inside and tucking it into his own pocket. He quickly disarmed the surviving two, gathering up their weapons, and although they looked miserable at the idea they willingly coughed them up without complaint. “So we haven’t found Joel. But we’ve got these two.” He quirked his head to one side. “What do we do with them?”

Lindsay’s reply was immediate. “We’ll give them to Geoff as our hostages.” She grinned toothily, and she and Michael knew that they had struck gold when both of the rival gang members blanched, their skin going as pale as chalk.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

An interrogation held by Geoff was a terrible thing, it was rumoured, and Michael was glad he would probably never have to experience one in his life.

Assuming, of course, he managed to flee with Gavin and never get caught. If they were caught, that would be a very different story, one with a distinctly violent and messy end.

Michael had assumed the two survivors would get off lightly- considering, after all, Geoff Ramsey had just been shot twice in the chest by a traitor. But Griffon, who had been the first on the scene after hearing the shots and first to see that he had the foresight to wear a bulletproof vest, declared him fit enough to go and pay them a little visit. She had called private medical personnel to care for Jack, with his leg destroyed and his tibia and fibula practically ruined and the gang wanting to avoid playing a game of twenty questions with the hospital, so he was undeniably out of action, but Geoff was practically a machine, undestroyable, and he marched on, seemingly fueled by rage alone. Michael wouldn’t have been surprised if that was true.

He shook off the shock, barely giving a single fuck about his horrendously bruised ribs, and he walked it off. He demanded to be taken to the hostages as soon as Barbara told him of their existence. It didn’t matter that they were part of a rival team- as they watched Geoff storm past, anarchy left in his wake, they all felt a similar pang of sympathy for the idiots that had gotten themselves caught.

They pretended they couldn’t hear the disconcertingly short and faint screams, and waited.

It took five minutes, record time according to Burnie who even clutched a stopwatch in his hand, and Geoff had enough information for him to go pay Cobb a visit and royally screw up his day.

They were ready.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

In five hours time, give or take, they stood directly outside enemy lines, the stronghold, the place the bastards called home, and Michael’s belly felt like it was full of eels.

They were hiding out in some huge manor like area, a home that once belonged to someone impossibly rich, now run down and long since abandoned. Cobb had elected to keep it that way, evidently, and for a moment Michael thought the two hostages had lied to them- but there were regular patrols around the house, always in groups of two in the overgrown gardens that stretched on as far as the eye could see, and occasionally outside the walls. It was early in the morning, ridiculously so, and they were covered under the darkness of night. But they could still see how beautiful, although now aged the estate had been.

Michael thought of his crappy, dingy little apartment and seethed with jealousy.

Geoff led them, and he acted like his injured and battered chest gave him no trouble. Michael barely saw him wince, and he felt nothing but crippling fear and admiration for the man. He didn’t let any of his emotions or expressions leak through, and it helped keep the members he had brought with him calm. There was a uneasy tension, sure, but there always was before a fight, and it was no thicker or heavier than usual.

They huddled up together against the garden’s tall and crumbling walls, and Michael stood always by Gavin’s side. The man beside him breathed lightly, emitting a gentle warmth, a strong and sturdy presence. He wanted to clutch his hand, share words of reassurance and love with him, but that was weakness, and he refused to show weakness in front of any of them. Not tonight.

“I want us to split up.” Geoff commanded, his voice carrying across the group. They all listened to him, weapons in hand, their eyes intent. “I want some of us to stay in the garden and kill whoever you find. I want some of you to stay here, in case backup gets called, and I want others to go into the forest around the back. I’ll lead a group directly into the house- the bastard is probably sitting in there, completely unaware that we’re coming for him.”

Geoff began listing off who was in each group, carefully splitting up their forces, trying to equalise their power. It was difficult. Jack, who was practically their tank was out of the game now, remaining at their own hideout with Griffon and several others, Kara and Burnie being the most notable. He had heard Geoff tell them that if none of them returned, Burnie was in charge, and Kara was his second in command. He had witnessed what could have been Burnie and Geoff’s final goodbye, too, and he had seen the way they tried to hide their emotions. They didn’t do too well, but they tried their best, and Michael respected them for that. They didn’t embrace- they clasped their forearms and tried to keep it short, but the way their muscles tightened and bunched was unmistakable. It was honest to God sorrow and grief. It was alien to watch, like watching a dog on two legs.

Ray had been left behind, too. Michael hadn’t seen or heard from him since Joel’s sudden escape- he guessed he was locked in quarantine, unable to leave, getting grilled for information along with the other two hostages. He felt sorry for him. He wouldn’t have wished that fate on anyone, and he hoped he wouldn’t suffer under Geoff’s interrogation. He had heard murmurs about Ray and Joel being lovers, but he dismissed that as vindictive bullshit. He couldn’t see opposites attract quite so extremely. He had no idea what they would have seen in each other- and thusly, it must have been a lie.

But Michael didn’t care about that- if he won this thing, he wasn’t going to care who was their leader or which two people were fucking for much longer. The only person he cared about was standing right next to him, listening raptly to his boss. He paid attention too, at first- but as soon as he found out where he and Gavin were going, he zoned out, losing all interest. Gavin was being separated from him- leading his own group as Geoff’s second. Michael hated that, but he couldn’t say shit. He was going into the woods, slipping under the cover of darkness, and checking for gunmen and other patrols there. Once they were done, they would emerge, and join whoever looked like they were having trouble- the people in the gardens, or the ones in the house. Michael was going into the gardens, with Lindsay.

Michael didn’t care about anyone else, and concerned himself with Gavin. The man was being sent off with faceless people, a small group that Gavin knew from working with them before, but Michael didn’t, and he hoped they weren’t all as incompetent as they seemed. Two of the five were trembling with fear, and one held the gun at a distance as if he hadn’t handled one before. If they weren’t killed immediately or if they didn’t flee at the first exchange of fire, Michael was Britney Spears.

Then Geoff finished his little speech, and all of a sudden it was time to go.

Michael and Gavin exchanged a glance, their eyes dark, serious and intense. Gavin didn’t look like the young man Michael knew- he looked like a soldier, now, dedicated and strong. He wasn’t smiling, and it made him seem so much more intimidating than he truly was. His own eyes were eerily green, bright in the darkness of early morning.

And then, that was it. They parted without a word, just a professional nod, with no time for ‘good luck’ or ‘I love you’, just moving on to do their duty, and in the end, Michael supposed that’s what he regretted most.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

At first, there was nothing to see, and no one around. The garden was still, the foliage only rustling faintly in the light wind, shining in the moonlight. It was peaceful, and Michael thought, maybe this won’t be too bad. And then, some idiot in the forest in Gavin’s group got themselves shot and most likely killed, and the jig was up, and the alarms were sounded.

The garden was teeming with people, now, and Michael and Lindsay were hugely outnumbered. As soon as they heard the group coming, they separated and hid themselves amongst the wild and untamed bushes, hoping that they didn’t walk too far along and immediately spot them. The group were silent, clearly taking the alarm seriously, and Michael found himself wishing they were dealing with idiots like they used to.

There were seven of them, all armed with pistols that shone under the full moon, and they all looked deadly serious. None of them said a word to each other, instead remaining close and communicating with body language and short, sharp gestures. Three of them moved Michael’s way, while the rest headed towards Lindsay, utterly unaware of their presence.

Michael was frozen stiff for a moment, completely unsure of what to do- then he saw Lindsay lean from her hiding place, expertly keeping her balance, and fire a shot into the darkness. She wasn’t sure where they were, but her intentions were likely to spook them. She succeeded. With her blind shot, which was nowhere near them, they broke, and they abruptly began to panic.

Their tight formation broke, and they splayed across the cracked garden paths, suddenly shouting, calling out to each other. They were easier to pick off, apart, Michael and Lindsay had both faded into the darkness, merging with it.

They began a game of hide and seek in the shadows then, ducking behind overgrown hedges and old garden ornaments, stone forest creatures and people who had been gradually worn down by poor weather. Michael quickly lost track of Lindsay, the woman moving like a goddamn wraith. He saw her, a few times, lit up in the moonlight, but she always disappeared in a matter of seconds. Michael wasn’t as good, with the reflexes of a cat but the grace of a truck. She didn’t wait for him, and he didn’t blame her- but their opponents were now even worse than Michael. He could hear one of them blundering about, the very opposite of stealth. He plunged noisily into thick hedges, trying to hunt them down quickly, and when Michael saw a man stagger out of the darkness he lifted his gun and fired, not bothering to make sure it wasn’t a part of his own team. He was fairly sure it wasn’t.

He went down with a cry, and that was the end of it. Michael continued to circle around the gardens, growing increasingly confident as the men kept freaking out, making more mistakes and making it easier for Michael to strike. He heard several gunshots from Lindsay’s side, too. He kept to the darkest shadows, the thickest ones closer to the floor. He didn’t bother to keep coordinated, more focused on staying alive that tracking his companion.

He wondered how Gavin was doing, around back and whether or not he or his team were still alive- but he quickly pushed the thoughts from his mind. If he lingered too long on him, he would make a mistake, and he would never see the man again. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

A shot rang out, with no scream, likely a headshot. He knew a few people with aim that good, and Lindsay was one of them. He hoped he wouldn’t come across her body, supine in the dirt and undergrowth. Michael pressed on, stalking another of the group and taking him out with minimal effort.

He turned around, ready to search for his last victim and found him directly behind him, knife in hand, much closer than Michael had expected. He lunged forward, and Michael was too surprised to react in time and pull the trigger, but he darted back, and instead of slicing his skin, the knife cut at the air, barely missing him. But the attacker was fast, and they were on him again in second, and this time the knife slashed him, cutting a thankfully shallow line across his cheek, leading down to his skin. The cut stung, feeling like he had been kissed with fire, and he swore, his voice reverberating.

Then, his attacker jolted, at the exact same time there was a blast of a gunshot. There was a splatter of blood, and wet sound- and they gurgled out words, useless and ragged, and Michael realised they had been shot in the throat. After a second, they fell down, dead. Red trickled from their mouth.

Lindsay was on him then, in another second, gun clutched in her hand and her expression furious. She breathed silently through her nose to avoid detection, a little fatigued, but nothing that would plague her. She seemed unharmed, but her jeans were covered in dirt and her skin was pink with scratches, as if she had been crawling through undergrowth. The woman reached out, touching his cheek lightly, inspecting his wound. Are you alright? She mouthed at him, making no sound, and he nodded, relief flooding him at the familiar sight. Thanks, he returned, and she smiled before turning, shimmering and melting in the shadow like she was made of it.

The garden was empty now, littered with seven still bodies and utterly still. Michael felt like he was alone, and there seemed to be no more people coming, no sign of reinforcements. He waited for a few minutes, crouching behind a broken statue of what seemed to once be a beautiful woman, but he was itching to fight, the adrenaline still agitating, running hot in his veins. His wound no longer hurt- thank you, endorphins- but he knew it would, eventually.

He couldn’t stay still. He had no idea where Lindsay had gone, and he wondered if perhaps she had the same inclination as him, and he knew he couldn’t stay.

He needed to help Gavin.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

As he moved through the almost pitch black forest floor, fallen twigs snapped, crackled and exploded under his heavy feet. He winced, and he halted, and he prayed that he wasn’t heard.

The grass was deep, and as dry as bone, scratching and tickling at his ankles as it snaked up the legs of his jeans, and occasionally the branches hung exceptionally low, dragging against him, catching on his skin and in his hair. It was hard to remain undetected when the foliage shifted and swayed with the wind and his every movement.

Nothing happened for a long, tense moment. Michael could hardly see a thing, and he squinted through the semi darkness. The wood was gloomy and seemingly impenetrably thick, and there wasn’t a single dirt path to be seen. Gavin must have taken a similar route to Michael- and he hoped the man possessed more grace than he did. Either way, Michael saw nothing- no darting figures in the shadows or past the trees, or gleam of someone’s eyes or teeth- and so he continued on.

Less than half a minute later, he found the first body.

His foot connected with something fleshy and firm, and he tried not to whimper. Not Gavin, please not Gavin, he thought, and the few seconds it took to crouch and roll the corpse over seemed the longest in his entire life.

His hands were greeted with warmth, and his fingers came away wet. He stifled the noises that threatened to break free, and steeled himself to gaze upon his face.

He had anticipated that if he did find any bodies, the first would have been the two that quivered like leaves in the wind or the one who held his gun like it was covered in spiders. That may have been so- he may have blundered past their corpses a long time ago- but he recognised him as one of the other two, a fierce looking boy. He looked furious, a little spooked, and that expression would remain with him until rigor mortis began to set in.

Michael quickly rearranged the dead boy’s hands to rest over his now still heart and brushed two fingers across his eyes, closing them, and left him to the forest without a word. He had a date with the living, and he couldn’t afford to be late trifling with the dead and unsalvageable. He wiped his hands clean of the blood as best he could on a nearby bush, and moved on.

Other bodies began to appear as he moved, with alarming regularity, the body count racking up faster than he felt comfortable with. The fierce boy must have been the first fatality- the gunshot and the victim that sounded the alarm. The corpses were practically as common as the fallen leaves. He didn’t recognise many of them, but he found one of Gavin’s fearful two, her own face contorted with surprise, and the one who mishandled his gun by her side.

There was a rustling up ahead, and the fear returned, settling in quite comfortable. He adapted to the change, as quickly as he could, mimicking Lindsay and breathing through his nose silently, and trying to ease his thready heartbeat. He moved, his noises barely heard over the sound of the wind and covered himself with a screen of thick sycamores.

There were confused shouts, the group clearly believing they were alone. The tones of woman called out in confusion and furious rage- where the hell did he go?- and another man cursed to the sky, his voice guttural, teeming with bloodlust. A few others were calling out to each other and they thundered across the forest floor, and Michael took his chance before he lost it. A time of confusion and disorganization was always the perfect time to strike. He leaned out from behind his tree, keeping his gun lifted high, and as soon as he saw a flash of movement, he steadied his aim and fired.

He expected a wet noise, of cry of sudden, surprised pain. He didn’t get one. He had missed. All he got was a symphony of sudden cries, alarming everyone within the immediate range of hearing, and a cackle of happiness from the woman. He swore, withdrawing, and sprinted to the other side of the trees, praying for stupidity. He got it, in a way. A male form stumbled out of the darkness, into a bright patch of moonlight, and Michael took him down with three fairly misplaced, messy shots- one missing spectacularly, another striking him in the thigh, and a killing blow to the chest. One down, he thought, and he recklessly darted out from behind cover, moving for another patch of growth, hoping no one in their group was an expert shot.

The ground exploded behind him, tearing up the dirt and the muck, and Michael thought a panicked scream might have torn it’s way free from his throat. But it might have been someone else’s- he hoped it was someone else’s, anyway.

There was a rush of motion, not twenty feet away from him, and a woman dashed across the ground, taking her own cover, disappearing into the nearest patch of trees. He had no time to try and pick her off- like Lindsay, she seemed to be a master, and he planned to get rid of her as soon as possible. He didn’t need her breathing down his neck.

He knew they already knew where he was, so he called out, hoping it wasn’t the mistake that ended his life. “Gavin!” He called out, not exactly expecting a response. If Gavin was pinned by these assholes, he wasn’t exactly going to reveal his position by shouting back- but Michael had to try, at least. He didn’t want to end up shooting him, or being shot by him.

He didn’t wait for a response- he moved, always running for cover, too afraid to be out in the open. An icy streak of fear contrasted with a hot wildfire of adrenaline, and he shot out as he moved, covering himself. He wished Lindsay was there to have his back, and he wished he could have hers. Now, he had two missing people to worry about.

He found a seemingly random wheelbarrow, overturned and left abandoned, and he found a man cowering underneath it. Michael had no mercy, not this time, and killed him with a single shot. Two down.

The third kill was harder, difficult to track and very difficult to here. He moved, silent and intent, and Michael was hardly aware of him. He was one hell of a marksman, too- one of his bullets landed in between Michael’s splayed fingers and thumb, piercing the bark of a three as Michael rested against it. He thanked everything in creation that he hadn’t gone for a headshot- Michael wasn’t even aware that he could be seen. Ten billion years seemed to go by before Michael hunted him down, successfully putting a bullet between his eyes and another in his gut, and a hundred billion more passed before he managed to get a shot at the woman from before.

She sniffed him out, becoming active rather than passive, and rolled neatly into the darkness, her teeth bared and her posture sly, almost animalistic. She spotted Michael, even in the darkness, and fired blindly at him. She missed, thank God, and Michael managed to flee around in a half circle without her notice, ending up behind her. He stepped out of the thicket, intending to surprise her before hunting down what seemed to be the last shooter- and a twig exploded inconveniently underneath his feet, and he swore.

She rounded on him with a cry, spinning, and her gun was pointed directly at him in less than a heartbeat.

Her tense muscles rippled under her arms, bold against her dark skin, and she shot at him, determinedly. She was an excellent shot- she almost had him at one point as he dived out of the way, the bullet practically whizzing past his ear, but he was faster. He waited until she had to pause, and stuck, with five messy shots aimed at her. All missed, apart from the third and the fifth, striking her in her stomach and her shoulder, respectively.

The savage man from before was the last one standing, and Michael found him attempting to flee, sneaking away from the scene of the shootout. Michael wouldn’t let him get away so easily, and called out to him, shooting a bullet by his foot that intended to imbollise him, but only spooked him. Having lost his gun somewhere that Michael didn’t give a damn about, he scrambled for his nearby fallen partner’s weapon, the man in the wheelbarrow, trying to duck away from Michael’s sights. He grabbed it, with a noise of satisfaction and victory, and he rolled to his feet, standing, and facing Michael.

They danced under the moon, their steps complex and dangerous, and whoever faltered first would die. They moved across the earth together, trying not to let their feet slip, struggling to keep ahead. They both placed the role of hunter and hunter perfectly, waiting for someone to fall- and then the man stumbled, with a breathy curse, and Michael killed him with a bullet that went through his throat.

He fell into the undergrowth and Michael suppressed a satisfied crow of victory. He waited, keeping his gun raised high, expecting more. They never came.

The forest was still. He couldn’t even hear the sound of birds, or rabbits scurrying in the darkness. He assumed they had been scared away by the gunshots- and if there was backup, by any chance, it seemed to be the same reason.

But he still hadn’t found Gavin, or seen Lindsay, and that’s all Michael could think of. He had checked all the bodies, every single one, and none had Gavin’s beautiful eyes or Lindsay’s distinctive hair. He could tell that, even in the darkness. He was apart from them, disconnected with no way to tell how far, and he felt useless. And he hated feeling useless.

He wondered where either of them could have gone. Lindsay could have surged directly into the house to help Geoff, and perhaps been attracted to another side of the forest by the sound of people- but surely, she would have let Michael know first, or made him come with her. Gavin could have been lost in the darkness of the forest, or perhaps he had directly disobeyed Geoff’s order and avoided the forest entirely.

But Gavin wasn’t that stupid, and he never would have left his group to die. That wasn’t him, and it wasn’t the man Michael loved.

But then again, Gavin wasn’t one to kill.

Michael sagged where he stood, deflating, and he felt the urge to sit down on the ground and cry until the morning sun came. His head hurt, and his cheek pulsed with pain, the endorphins leaving him as the adrenaline leaked away. He was gradually turning into a ball of pain, and he wanted to curl up in a little ball and die peacefully while he still could.

But Michael Jones wasn’t that man, and he had a future to fight for, one that was worth fighting for.

Steeling himself, he turned back to where he came, his body straightening and warring against the unnatural weariness that plagued him- and he saw a faint but intense light, a bold glowing, coming from where the house and the garden sat. It wavered and flickered, seemingly unnatural, and he wondered if dawn had come without his notice, or if he was just imagining it. Either options were just as likely.

He held his gun loosely in one hand, far too tired to be on guard as the adrenaline abandoned him, and trudged back, hoping to find an angel waiting for him, or at the very least, a lover who wasn’t dead.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Adrenaline still coursed through his veins, enveloping him, letting him hear the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears, but Cobb was dead, his gang almost completely destroyed, and Geoff had nothing else to do but wait for the others to return to him.

That is, if they did return. He had lost plenty of them, too many for him to list, most of them faceless men and women he didn’t know the names of. He wondered how many more were dead, or lay dying, unable to call out for help, but he supposed they were out of reach, now. They didn’t matter.

He stared at the massive house Cobb had cowered in, too scared to come out and face him. He had to hunt him down like an animal, in the most undignified way possible. He had put up a minor fight with the people he elected as his guards, but they were too bold and eager while he was pathetic, shaking with fear. Monty and Miles finished his guards, all too easily, in no time at all although Miles took a bullet through his shoulder. Cobb had panicked as soon as he realised he was all alone, and attempted to flee- but Geoff himself disarmed his new enemy with hardly an effort, shooting his hand and forcing him to drop his weapon and shooting out his knee, leaving him immobile.

Geoff had dragged him out by his ankles, listening to his screaming and begging, his howls of agony as his new wounds were agitated, dragging in the dirt and the dust, no doubt to become infected. But Geoff wouldn’t let him live that long. He did to him exactly what he had done to his own- he beat him bloody for James Kann, still fighting for his life in the hospital, shot him again for Miles, and once more and then cut him for Gavin, and would have blown him up for Dan if he could. He knew he had an audience, all of his lackeys standing around him and watching the rich blood seep into the dark, moistened soil.

He did to him exactly what he did to Carver Driscoll, and when all was done, he cut his throat so deep he could see the brilliant bone from the mangled flesh, and his hands were wet with his blood up to the wrists. He missed the sound of his screams, but all things had to come to an end, and Geoff was getting bored of his dull pleas and attempted bribes.

It was gradually drying now, caking his hands and making them feel stiff and immobile. He enjoyed the feeling, though, knowing he had gotten his revenge and asserted his dominance. And that, in the end, was all that mattered.

He turned his head, to where he knew Ryan was standing. He hadn’t interfered when he was teaching Cobb the last lesson he would ever learn, and he was pleased. He appreciated Ryan for everything, every second. Ryan had followed him blindly, into hell and all the way back, and Geoff loved him like a brother, a comrade in arms for that loyalty. He saw how the shadows had grown lighter as time passed and dawn approached, and it threw Ryan’s face into a softer light, alighting his handsome features rather than sharpening them. He was smiling, but only faintly.

“What shall we do with this?” Geoff gestured behind him, to the great house. It was a pretty thing, likely a glorious estate back in it’s day. It had gone to waste, with some of it’s windows blocked up with garish red bricks against the tan stone, and all others broken. The insides were classic, with arched doorways and stone floors, massive staircases and wide halls with all of the furniture pushed to one side. It wasn’t dusty, signifying that it had been lived in. And now, it was painted with blood.

Ryan didn’t respond immediately, likely thinking hard for the best advice to give. Geoff was in a good mood, and he was patient. He would wait.

“Maybe…” One of the guys in the audience to his right spoke up, but he ducked his head, realising he had spoken out of turn. Ryan and Geoff both turned to stare, surprised that they had been interrupted. Geoff barely knew him, this boy, but he liked him immediately. He appreciated people who knew only to speak when they were spoken to.

He gave him a chance. “What?” He asked, and the man flushed, embarrassed. He cleared his throat, the gesture nervous, and took a while to speak.

“Maybe you could set it on fire?” He suggested, and while a couple of group members chortled, finding the idea ridiculous, most remained silent, listening intently. Ryan was amongst the latter. He defended himself. “There’s a shed over there, not too far away. I was in there during the shootout,” One girl interjected with a jab, he was probably hiding, and he simmered with humiliation and frustration as a ripple of laughter went through the group. He persevered, and Geoff liked him even more. “There was gasoline in there, lots of it. Maybe we could douse the building in it, and it’ll burn the evidence. Burn the bodies. And kill everyone inside.”

Geoff didn’t even think about it. There were cons, sure. It would be impossible to hide arson on such a grand scale from the police, and they would no doubt be an investigation, but the kid made good points, and if the underworld knew that Geoff Ramsey set this blaze, it would do wonders for his reputation.

So he smiled, praising the man with a simple nod, and demanded that all of it be brought to him. People scurried to appease him, as they always did, and within a few minutes several barrels had be brought out. He pointed out to ten of them, two for each barrel, and commanded that they cover the house with it, making sure it lead around the entire building, trailing indoors occasionally, barring the exits. He wanted no one waiting inside to escape. In a tense and quiet half an hour, the deed was done, and Geoff waited with a match in his hand, and everyone was holding their breath.

“Dracarys.” Geoff said, dry and mirthless, and he dropped the match on the ground. Within no time at all, the fire had bloomed, and then it blazed.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Michael could smell the smoke long before he emerged from the dark wood, and he could see the faint glow of ebbing light. When he finally stepped out from the thickets, he saw the flame flare up into the sky, as if licking at the stars and the moon.

He could hear the screams, too, of the people who hadn’t yet escaped the building being burnt alive. He expected to feel a twisted sort of satisfaction- these were the people who hurt Gavin and Dan, attacked his friends, made his life a living nightmare for weeks- but instead he felt numb and frankly exhausted. He let the screams wash over him, and he felt no sympathy but no contentment.

The screams had diminished by the time he reached the others.

He hadn’t expected the group to still be there, if Cobb was dead. He evidently was, judging by the mangled body that lay before Geoff’s feet. He knew it was Cobb, almost straight away despite the fact his face was black and blue, bloody and swollen beyond recognition- Geoff would never have treated some random man quite so savagely. But they shouldn't have stayed- someone else, a civilian or two would have seen the fire, and they would have no doubt already called the police, and he hadn’t expected them to waste time and risk exposure waiting for him. But they did. It unnerved him a little, but he was glad he would be able to learn who had survived the final assault.

He supposed Geoff wanted to watch his work, like all good arsonists did.

In the masses of the group, washed in light by the fire, he could see blood red hair shine. Lindsay had her hair tied back in a messy ponytail, and she was covered head to toe in filth and muck. She didn’t look happy about it either, but she caught his eye as Michael trudged over, and both of them knew they were glad the other had survived. He wondered where she had gone- but he supposed it wasn’t really the right time to ask. She smiled at him, her lips bloody and her posture limp. The others were in a similar state, their bodies shrines to war and bloodshed. Some had cuts, others bruises, a couple clutching broken bones. Some even had bullet wounds, but they seemed to be too transfixed by the glorious fires to care.

He didn’t join them. He ground to a halt a few strides away, not part of the silent masses, but not standing with Geoff. Michael appreciated the warmth of the fire on his face, warming his chilly skin. The boss was standing directly at the head, his arms crossed tightly across his chest and seemingly no worse for wear despite his scuffed and bloodsoaked jeans. His gun had been dropped on the floor, the metal gleaming in the harsh light. The man himself was a blank canvas, as usual, but the air around him seemed to ooze satisfaction and pride and he watched the fire flicker. He was silent. His pitch black shadow stretched along the grass, taller than anyone else’s.

Michael looked around, turning his head, spinning where he stood, searching the exhausted crowd for one particular face. He wanted to bask in his presence, be comforted by his crooked smile and ridiculously beautiful face. Cobb was dead, his group in tatters, and that was it. It was the end. Michael had things to plan, a lover to run away with, and he had never been more excited in his life.

He couldn’t find him. There were several people missing, the wounded or the dead that Michael had seen fall, but there was one he didn’t see. He stood on his tiptoes, peering over heads in an attempt to see wild, dark hair. There was nothing.

“Where’s Gavin?” He called out to the group, his heart suddenly feather light in his chest. His guts twisted like snakes and his throat felt like it began to constrict. “Is he hurt?”

Geoff turned to face him, and he was grinning like a madman. The light caused shadows to bathe  “As far as I know, he’s fine. Most of the wounded have been taken away.”

“Where is he, then?” Michael demanded to know.

“He’s alive.” One of the nameless women spoke up, a brunette with big, dark eyes and blood all down her shirt. She had a long cut on her forearm, and several bleeding scratches on her sternum and collar bones, but there was far too much blood for it to all be hers. Michael’s fear subsided, but the worry never faded. “I’m pretty sure.”

He rounded on her. “Do you know where he is?”

She shrugged- there was a flicker of pain in her expression as the movement pulled at some of her wounds- and shook her head. “Last I saw, he was around in the back garden.”

He heard a sound of protest, and another woman stood forward. She looked a mess, frowning deeply with blood smeared across her face. “I saw him go into the building not a few minutes after the fire fight.”

At that, Geoff turned his head, and his voice cracked out like a whip. “You saw him enter?” He barked out, and they all flinched, snapping to attention like soldiers. “He went in?” She nodded, and she was clearly too afraid to speak, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth. Geoff shot Michael a glance, his eyes wide and lips parted. The boxer didn’t understand. He tilted his head to one side, his mind whirring, piecing together everything he could see and everything he had heard.

Something clicked, something in Michael’s brain, and almost at the exact same time something in his chest was torn apart. A switch was flicked, and everything burst into sudden light. There was cement resting in his belly, trapped and drying in his throat, jelly in his legs, marrow torn from his bones. His gut churned relentlessly, unstoppable, and he wondered how he was still standing. The fire blazed, rippling and rising, and the smoke and the heat made Michael's eyes water.

He looked to Geoff, imploringly. “No.” He tried to sound authoritative, commanding, just like Geoff. But it didn’t work, the boxer saw the emotions slowly trawl into his bosses eyes- the defeat and the shock and the horror in the eyes of the man who was once so stoic and so powerful. The proud feathers of the peacock were finally ruffled.

The fire roared behind them now, cracking and groaning ominously as the old house, now fully ablaze, collapses in on itself and Michael wondered if it was swallowing him just how it might be devouring Gavin.

He pivoted suddenly, his trainers almost slipping and tearing grass out of the sod, and his voice is a mangled, broken scream. “Gavin!” He surged forward, dashing towards the house desperately even though he knew in his heart it was too late. For either of them.

Before he could reach the nearest entrance- a window, shattered by a stray bullet from before- someone grabbed him, thick arms wrapping around his waist and hauling him back, and it was like being caught in a vice. He was trapped, unable to move, unable to break free, barely able to breathe. He fought, trying to squirm and struggle and claw his way free, but the body which clamped itself around him was forged of steel. He howled, kicked and fought even though he knew it was to no avail.

“Get it there!” He heard Geoff command, clearly lacking the composure he prided himself on and was famed for. Good, Michael thought, his thoughts and eyes equally wild. He’s dead, you’ve killed him, you bastard. I hope the guilt follows you for the rest of your days. “Find him- but for God’s sake, don’t get yourself killed!”

Michael saw many of the group dash forward towards the house, some admittedly and fairly after a moment’s hesitation. There was a flash of gold- Barbara- and a familiar voice shouting- Monty- and many more running to help. Many more stayed still, their eyes wide, hands over their hearts. Michael judged them all for not wanting to save someone as flawless and beautiful and perfect as Gavin, a saint despite everything. He wanted to take in their faces, know them as traitors and cowards, but he was busy shrieking for the man he loved.

He recalled the screaming in the fire, the horrific sound that rose in pitch, wavering until it finally faltered and died, and he wanted to be sick. He might have been. He didn’t know. All he remembered was the blur of faces and flames and the taste of failure and agony, ashes in him mouth. His world had narrowed down, shrinking abruptly to one tiny point- and that point’s name was Gavin. Anything else was pushed aside, forgotten, deemed simply, wholly irrelevant.

He remembered the taste of those ashes, mixing with the salt of raindrops. Or was it tears? It was all so confusing.

The one who held him never let him go, no matter how much he struggled. He was an immovable object, weighing him down like bricks. But eventually, Michael gave up. He slumped down on his knees, feeling the heat of the fire on his face, the smoke filling his nose, the now silent screams still ringing in his ears. He thought he was sobbing.

They hadn’t come back with Gavin.

Geoff had never moved. He was frozen in place, helplessly staring, his eyes wide, reflecting the flames. For the first time in Michael’s memory, he was at a loss. Michael turned his head, and found that Ryan was the one who held him, and his expression was just as horrified, the usually blank face brimming with sick emotions. Michael begged to be let go, no longer having the energy to do anything but whisper. Ryan ignored him.

They watched the fire burn. It seemed to be never ending. The second story caved in in no time at all, seemingly, and Michael couldn’t find it in himself to feel concern for those who had run inside to find Gavin.

They were safe, anyway. They eventually emerged after an eternity, or perhaps two, spluttering, covered in soot and reeking of smoke. Several of them staggered, losing their balance, turning back to the fire and peering at it, as if expecting Gavin to still be alive in the mess and the wreckage. Lindsay was screaming too even as she stumbled out of the burning building, calling for Gavin, begging, crying. But eventually, both she and Michael lost their voices, only capable of hoarse sobs with their dry sandpaper throats, and they fell deathly silent.

They all watched the house crumble, wordlessly, the flames flickering on.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Everything was still.

The police never came, Michael realized, in retrospect. He didn’t understand that. He didn’t understand much. Everything had a heavy, thick, dreamlike quality as if nothing around him was actually happening. None of it was real. He was still sleeping- in a matter of moments he would jerk awake from a terrible and surreal nightmare, and the smell of burning would leave him, and he would find himself being shaken awake by his lover, comforted with his soft kisses, blinded with his dazzling grin.

He wished.

The remains of the building smoldered quietly, with only the occasional crackle and pop of splintered wood. Everything was charred and ruined, unsalvageable, irreversible. The land was dark again under the moon, no longer bathed in light. The warmth left him long ago, and the chill had crept in, seeping through his thin clothes and embracing his bones. It took his eyes a while to readjust, adapting to the lack of light, but he saw Geoff still standing where he had begun, still gazing at the building. The crowd around them had moved as soon as the fire died, approaching and searching the wreckage. Michael could see figures moving around in the remains, kicking aside beams or chunks of wood, hoisting up now unrecognisable parts of the building and moving it aside, searching for corpses. One corpse in particular.

Michael had been listening to them call out to each other, barely taking in the words they cried, but he knew they had found two bodies already, burnt beyond recognition. There was no saying whether or not these were once Gavin.

He tried to hold his nose, no longer wanting to take in the scent of burning, and he thought he may have been sick. Maybe again.

He had no reason to do anything, now, not if Gavin was gone. He had no clarity, no light to guide him through the crushing dark. He may as well just lie down and let everything happen in due course, let Geoff haul him around like an unwilling child or a tamed hound, let time wash over him until his life came to a slow end. There wouldn’t be any point in escaping Geoff. There wouldn’t be any point in staying. There wouldn’t be any point in anything, not even breathing.

He remained on his knees, even as they quickly became numb and useless, and waited for news.

It came too suddenly for his liking. He heard nothing from any of those exploring the gutted house, but he heard Geoff’s rumbled sound of anger, and low mutter of ‘no’ and the sound of his footsteps, backtracking towards Michael. The boxer looked up, and found a familiar face stumbling towards him.

Lindsay’s eyes were large and glowing with unshed tears, and she grasped both of her hands into tight fists. Her steps were unsteady as she approached, and her breaths were shuddering, weak, quiet in the aching silence. She came to a half a few steps before him, unwilling to come to close as if she feared he might lunge at her.

“I,” She begun, but her voice failed her, cracking and disappearing into nothing. She swallowed, desperately trying to speak. She gathered herself as both Michael and Geoff stared. “I’m sorry, Michael.” She reached down, taking ahold of his wrist and pulled his hand up to her. Her other hand, a remaining fist, pressed something hard and warm firmly into his palm. “I’m so sorry.” She held his hand with both of hers for a long moment, as if unwilling to let go. Her hands and boots were covered in thick grey ash, and she accidentally smeared it on his own.

She pulled her hands away slowly, and after a silent, apprehensive pause, Michael uncurled his hand and stared at what she had found.

The chain was still warm from the fire, and it strangely comforted his palm. The chain slid over his skin, oddly soothing. He stared down at it, his expression never flickering. The face of the creeper was blackened and singed, the green plastic melted off, the necklace barely recognisable. It reeked. He curled it into a fist, swallowing it whole, and he didn’t scream. He would have, but he couldn’t summon the energy. He had enough grief for it. He had enough hatred. But it wouldn’t tear itself free, despite his best efforts.

He bowed his head, leaning forward on his knees still, drawing his fist towards his chest as if in prayer. The cold night air was like ice being held against his skin, and the once calming chain was suddenly boiling hot, scalding the sensitive skin of his palm, the metal was suddenly barbed wire, scratching at him and tearing him apart. He found himself crying, tasting salt on his lips.

He took a moment to take a few ragged breaths, swallowing around the bundle horror and the grief that had clumped together in his throat, unable to withhold a whimper.

“Where was he?” His voice was broken, wavering, cracking like the wood in the fire. “Where was he?”

“Near the stairs,” Lindsay told him, tears now dribbling down her cheeks. They cleaned her skin, leaving smooth trails on her soot stained face. Her lips were quivering, now, and she scrubbed at her tears with the sleeve of her jacket. “He was completely… god.” She shook her head furiously, hair the colour of flame whipping around her cheeks. “Part of the building fell on him. I’m not sure what… killed him, that or the fire.”

Michael tried to make a legible response, but all that came out was a mournful sound, like he was an injured, trapped animal. He bowed his head, his grip only serving to tighten on the necklace. His breaths were pants as everything clenched and seemed to spasm- his throat, his guts, every single one of his muscles. The tears came faster, heavier, dropping to the ground, and he keened, long and loud.

A strangled sound emerged from Geoff’s throat, and they all looked up to find their boss with his hands over his head, his fingers digging into his own skin, punishing himself. The noise grew the stares of everyone around them, and they all looked terrified at this sudden display of emotion. Geoff retreated, taking several steps backwards, away from the others and away from the house. “Goddamnit.” His voice broke halfway through, and he stomped on the floor, his frustration evident. “God fucking damnit.”

“Geoff,” Ryan began, his voice unfairly, insultingly even. He was silenced abruptly when Geoff hissed, like a rattlesnake, his grip tightening.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” The last curse was screamed, shattering the silence of the wood. Ryan finally let him go, and Michael slumped forward, collapsing onto the floor, feeling the blades of grass tickle his bare skin.

Lindsay bent down and touched Michael’s arm, and he could feel her tears pattering on his head like rain. “Come on,” She said, “Come on, I don’t want to watch this fire anymore.” but Michael remained unresponsive, and could barely move and barely breathe.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Michael had never met Gavin’s parents.

He had asked once before, probing the topic carefully and gradually, unsure of his lover’s boundaries. Gavin had never spoken to them in front of Michael, about them to anyone else, even Dan, and he had never brought them up. Dan had showed him a picture, once, of a stern older gentleman with deep set eyes and a nose that Gavin had clearly inherited, and a softer younger woman, tall, with Gavin’s hair and jaw. They were embracing, their arms wrapped carefully and lovingly around the other, but Gavin was nowhere to be seen. Michael wasn’t sure how tender his relationship was with them- he didn’t even know if they were still alive.

He asked, uncertainly about his mother and his father and Gavin’s automatic reaction was to tense up, his body suddenly rigid and unfriendly. Michael wasn’t exactly sure what to expect- maybe for him to burst into hysterical tears and throw himself into his arms, or maybe fury, with loud voices and violence. Or maybe stony silence and a cold shoulder. He in fact received a terse ‘They don’t matter anymore’, his lover’s words clipped and carefully picked, and Michael wasn’t fool enough to ever bring it up again.

But he knew they mattered now, with Gavin dead.

He toyed with the idea of calling them personally, but he honestly didn’t know what to say. Anything that came to his head seemed utterly insensitive. Hi, I’m Michael Jones. I’m in love with your son, Gavin, and I was dating him. I say ‘was’ because he’s dead. He burned alive. Come to the funeral? He wasn’t ready for that. He told himself that he didn’t want to potentially spring the news that Gavin was gay and the fact their son was dead on them- but really, he didn’t want to deal with their sympathy. He was getting enough patronization from the rest of his group. He didn’t need it from two people he hadn’t even met before.

He was glad when Geoff had offered to contact them for him. The man had pulled himself together almost immediately after his brief breakdown, pulling on his usual mask and detaching himself from all emotion once again. He took control of the ragtag, ruined group and forced them into action. He sent people to guard the wounded- just in case, he said, sent more in an attempt to find Joel, and sent cleanup crews back to the scene of the fire later and got someone to gather Gavin’s corpse. Michael wasn’t there when it happened. He refused to involve himself in any of the clean up, and he was well aware of the fact that Geoff would have skinned him alive if he didn’t understand the reasons why.

But he did understand. He knew that Michael didn’t want to face reality. He didn’t want to stand up and face the fact that Gavin was fucking dead head on.

No one did, really.

He recalled the way Geoff had rested his heavy hand on the boxer’s shoulder, and Michael wanted to tear away from the touch of the man who killed his lover, but he was still exhausted, his body feeling thick and weighed down, useless and bulky. It had felt that way ever since the fire. His lungs still felt full of the suffocating smog. “I’ll contact them.” His boss said, and Michael wanted to stick his fingers in his ears and sing some random tune, block out the sound of his voice that featured so regularly in his nightmares. “I promise.”

Everyone knew Geoff was a man to keep all of his promises. So Michael wasn’t precisely sure what to think when the day of the funeral came, three days after the fire, and he never saw Gavin’s parents.

There weren’t many people in attendance, but Michael knew them all. They were all gang members. Gavin didn’t have any friends outside of the group. In the small crowd of seated attendants, he saw prominently saw Lindsay, with Barbara close by, practically pressed against her. He saw Ray a few rows back, and Michael started when he saw that Joel wasn’t beside him- until he remembered, and his stomach fluttered with temporary sickness. Geoff had claimed one of the seats at the front, his mourning suit immaculate and his back as straight as a pole, surrounded by his little buddies. Griffon sat somewhat stiffly by his side, while their little daughter was nowhere to be seen. There wasn’t a flicker of guilt on any of their faces- the masks were firmly kept in place, and he could read nothing from any of them. The back rows were claimed by Gavin’s more distant friends or associates- people like Caleb and Miles, Monty and Matt.

He knew Dan would have been there in the front row, if he hadn’t still been locked up, isolated and endangered in police custody. Michael wanted him out, he truly did, but he wasn’t looking forward to telling him that his best friend, his B, had been killed because Michael wasn’t there to protect him. He didn’t want to see the way his hopeful face would fall, the way his heart and soul would be crushed in Michael’s palm, just how Michael’s was in Geoff’s.

Lindsay had tried to bring Michael to the front, her painted nails digging into the skin of his forearm, but he had vehemently refused, practically shooting back down the graveyard like a bullet. He would not be budged. He didn’t want to stand near the tightly shut casket, even though he knew he eventually would.

Lindsay saw the blackened chain that hung from Michael’s palm, mixing with the untouched silver of his own necklace, and she didn’t say a word. She left him to mourn alone, taking her seat in the second row, and he was thankful for the privacy.

Michael watched from the shadow of a great and tall elm tree, the dead leaves lying under his feet, only half listening to the priest who spoke and wondering if they were burying ashes or bone.

The funeral was torturously long. He knew he probably looked like an asshole to those attending who didn’t know him, shifting in the leaves and barely listening to what was being said, not saying a word the whole time. But he was hollow now, a pretty shell with nothing else on offer. The priest droned on uselessly, speaking words that barely anyone, certainly not Michael believed. And Gavin lay there, silent, empty, alienated.

He had wondered the night before if he would cry. God, he had cried the first night, and the day after, and then that night. But he had been running out of tears, and although he could feel the despair and the grief bubble inside his stomach, rising to his chest and making his entire body ache, there were no tears. A firm hand squeezed his heart, and it felt like his lungs were filling with thick and black oil, but the tears still would not come.

It ended slowly, the words and speeches and recitals drifting away. There was no music at Gavin’s funeral. Michael had never even asked what song he would have wanted, when the time eventually came- he supposed it helped him feel immortal, forever young. He wished he had thought to ask. It might have prepared him better for this moment.

Either way, Gavin’s funeral finally ended, and the faint noise tapered off into a stony, dead silence. Michael found it dreadfully ironic, and he would have barked out a bitter laugh if he could muster it. All the attendants sat, thinking on what had happened and the man Gavin used to be for several long moments. Michael never moved from his spot, his back against the bark of the tree.

Gradually, people began to stand, getting up from the seats individually or in small trickles. Some approached the casket and lay down flowers, exquisite bunches of crimson roses or snowy white lilies- flowers that would rot and turn ugly in a matter of days. He supposed he appreciated the thought. Some did that, and lingered, gazing down at the casket, but others simply left, their heads bowed low, anticipating more funerals to come. They had lost many people that night, in the fire and in the shootout alike, but Michael was only concerned with his one.

Geoff was one of the last to leave.

When the seats were nearly empty, only Lindsay and Geoff’s group remaining and the priest still lingering, Geoff stood, taking Griffon’s hand in a loose grip, and they stepped over to Gavin’s casket. Ryan, Jack and Burnie remained seated. Griffon clutched a huge bouquet of roses in her other hand, the biggest and most expensive looking of all flowers Michael had seen that day, and she pressed them into her husband’s hand without saying a word. He accepted them, but shot her a glance, and they had a brief conversation without opening their mouths or even moving. Griffon was unblinking, and Geoff eventually looked away, bowing a little rigidly, placing the flowers down.

His wife kept her eyes on him all the while, as if searching for cracks and blemishes in the mask he wore. She kept her hand on his, not letting him shake free. She wasn’t the only one- Michael and Lindsay both watched him carefully, hawkeyed and scrutinizing every single movement he made and step he took.

They left almost immediately afterwards, Geoff tugging Griffon’s hand like a child clamouring for his mother’s attention. She guided him, gesturing for their bodyguards to follow them up the gap between the seats. Lindsay watched them pass wordlessly, her brows furrowed, her eyes full of hatred.

Geoff glanced at Michael as he passed, following the path out of the cemetery- but he tore his gaze away quickly, and kept walking. Ryan offered him a tight lipped smile of sympathy, and Burnie nodded at him, lowering his gaze as if ashamed. Burnie’s arm, Michael saw, was in a cast, and Jack walked with a faint but noticeable limp.

They were long gone in less than a minute.

Michael took his chance, then, knowing he was going to be as alone here as he could be. Lindsay wouldn’t up and leave without talking to him, and she didn’t look like she was going to approach him anytime soon, so he took control of the situation and stepped forward, striding through the abandoned seats, wondering if there were ghosts around him. He approached the casket, and his steps slowed minutely, the sudden surge of confidence jumping ship, the necklace around his throat and it’s other half in his hand suddenly weighing him down. But then he was standing there, before he knew it, gazing down at the grave, faced with reality.

The tears still weren’t falling, and for that he felt guilty. He loved Gavin, more than anything, more than life, but he couldn’t summon the tears. He was too tired for that, physically and emotionally. He prayed that Gavin would understand, if he was looking down on him.

It felt weird, speaking to someone who wasn’t there, but he felt some things needed to be said. “I love you.” He said to the earth, to the flowers that lay over his lover. “So much. Remember that.” He swallowed, a heavy and uncomfortable lump residing in his throat. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He smoothed his thumb over the creeper pendant. “I’m sorry, Gavin.”

He squeezed the matching necklaces in the palm of his hand once more, not sure if he was sending a message to Gavin’s memory or simply reassuring himself, and he squatted down by Gavin’s grave and carefully placed the jewelry on the casket, among the fresh and beautiful flowers that the others had tossed onto it. They both refused to slip free at first, the creeper head catching on the diamond and refusing to fall from his palm, and the chains catching on his long fingers, and he barely had a second to desperately wonder if it was some kind of sign before they fell from his grasp, landing silently among the stems and petals.

He regretted the decision almost immediately. It was too much- it was like letting go of Gavin’s memory, and it was far too soon for that. He wanted to snatch them back up, hold them close to his heart and assure his loved one that he would never let go. His hand hovered over the casket as he thought, his mind at war- and then he looked up as a shadow fell over him, blotting out the thin, wavering sun.

He half expected it to be Lindsay, or Gavin’s parents- they had a duty to be there, after all- but instead, Ray stood above him. His youthful face was lined deeply with grief, and his eyes were red rimmed and puffy. Michael recalled not seeing him leave, but he assumed he had needed privacy to cry alone. Michael didn’t blame him, and he wasn’t an asshole. He pretended he didn’t notice. He offered him a tiny smile, one that Ray barely returned. The curve of his lips was a pathetic thing, and the smile shrivelled and died like a slug in salt.

“Hey.” The older man greeted. As time passed, Michael picked out more and more from his appearance. His hair was a mess- not carefully careless like Gavin’s always was, but a genuine mess, like he had woken late and not bothered to brush it. The suit he wore was baggy on him, despite the fact Michael knew that it was very recently bought and fit him perfectly a few days back- it was as if he had suddenly lost a lot of weight. There were heavy set purple and black bags under his eyes, which lacked their usual shine.

They had both lost someone important to them, and Michael wondered if he looked just as bad as Ray did.

“Hi.” Ray returned, and Michael straightened up, albeit unwillingly. His hand felt uncomfortably light and empty, and he flexed his wrist and twitched his fingers, trying to regain sensation. He was painfully aware of the necklace, wanting it back almost more than anything. “I know this is a stupid question, but how are you coping?”

He didn’t want to talk about that. He didn’t know how to deal with grief like this, and he didn’t appreciate a broken man trying to heal him. “How are you coping?” He shot back, arching his eyebrows.

Ray looked him dead in the eyes, his expression severe.“Terribly.” He told him, and Michael felt like had been slapped in the face with the honest truth.

“Oh.” He managed dumbly, feeling like a fool. Ray chuckled, and the sound was clearly forced.

“I’ve lost my best friend,” He said, and Michael noticed he deliberately avoided looking at Gavin’s casket during the whole conversation. “Geoff tried to get someone to kill me, and the man I loved betrayed me. Am I supposed to be smiling and singing and petting animals like a fucking Disney Princess? Forgive me for not getting that memo.”

Michael shook his head, looking down at his feet. “No, I get you. That was a silly question.”

Ray groaned a little, and shrugged. “I asked it first.” He looked down at his own feet too, and they mirrored each other perfectly. “I’m sorry.” There was a beat. “I’m going to miss him.”

“So much.” Michael agreed. “There…” He swallowed. “There doesn’t seem to be any point in going through anything now.”

Ray grunted dismissively, and then his hand was on one of Michael’s shoulders. The other pushed up his chin, and their eyes met. Ray’s were almost black, and wholly serious. “I don’t want to hear you saying shit like that. I can’t promise it’s going to be okay, because I really doubt it’s ever going to be, for either of us. But we can take it each day at a time, yeah?” His hands shook him a little, and Michael’s head lolled at the gentle force.

“Okay.” He agreed, and his voice was nowhere near as genuine as he aimed for it to be.

“We can get through it together, yeah?” Ray offered, his grip only tightening. He stared at him. “You’re not alone. You’re never alone.”

“I know.” Michael turned his head away, glancing down at the flowers. The chain of the necklace gleamed, catching his eye as if he were a crow. “I made that mistake. I thought it was just me and Gavin.” He forced a bitter, venomous laugh. “And look where that got him. Look where it got me.”

“You’ve got me, and you’ve got Linds. You have friends.” Ray reminded him, and Michael nodded.

“Yeah. I’ve got friends.”

He stared back at the grave where his true love lay, wanting nothing more than to pretend it wasn’t him lying there alone, wasn’t him about to be buried away forever, and that Gavin was going to come up behind him and kiss him and take him home, and everything would be fine, and they could still run away together, be free from all this, and be safe.

A hand reached out and laced their fingers with his. The cool metal of a ring burnt his skin.

“It’s time to go home now.” Lindsay told him, her voice quiet in the afternoon’s silence, and he let her pull him away to a world without Gavin.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t hard, either.

It was bullshittingly difficult, and Michael hated every second of it.

Every morning, Gavin’s absence was a rude slap in the face, a bucket of ice cold water getting dunked over his head. Michael would wake up in a freezing cold bed, and his heart would shrivel up and his rotten, dying soul would have another piece torn loose. For him, there was no reason to get up in the morning. Breakfast was dull, without hearing his insistent chatter. The television was always switched off, because he was so used to Gavin talking over it, complaining bitterly about some character or another. Work was meaningless, repetitive, a waste of his time. He used to get some kind of enjoyment out of the fights- he loved them when Gavin used to watch, before they were together, where he knew Gavin was staring at his ass the whole way through- but now they were just stupid displays of brutality.

And with Dan not there either, it was made a thousand times worse.

An older woman who lived down the hall had knocked and asked where ‘those lovely two British boys’ had gone, and he had erupted into fury, all of the anger and despair that had bottled and built exploding. She was still avoiding him, scurrying down the hall to get away from him whenever he tried to apologise. Michael teetering on the edge, every hour of the day, snappy and standoffish and rude. And no one had the balls to call him out for it- no one at all, excluding one special person.

He knew Lindsay was watching over him, a kind of guardian angel. He knew she was trying to help, as was Ray- but their interruptions were plaguing irritations, intrusions, and after the first few days, he began ignoring their calls and pretending he wasn’t in when they came knocking. He locked himself away to pine and rot away emotionally, starving himself of contact, hoping it would speed whatever arduous process he was part of.

It didn't seem to be working, and Michael was waiting for something that he knew wouldn’t come any day soon- and then, one day when snow drifted from a miserable, overcast sky, Lindsay came to him, and she pressed a plain, unmarked envelope into his hands.

She had knocked on the door calmly and casually instead of attempting to pound it down like she had done recently, and he was tricked into thinking it was someone else. He had crawled out of bed sleepy and stumbling even though it was now two thirty in the afternoon and answered the door with a growled, unfriendly ‘what?’, expecting some salesman or his drunken landlord. When he was greeted with Lindsay’s unimpressed scowl, he blinked, suddenly fully awake.

“Linds?” Michael opened the door further, and leant against the wall, frowning. She peered past him, into the hallway, and he considered inviting her inside because there was no way he was going to get rid of her now- but he remembered the terrible state every single one of the rooms were in, with unclean clothes and old plates and other disgusting objects littering the floors, and decided against it. He hoped she wouldn’t ask to be allowed in. “What are you doing here?”

“I tried to call.” She said, her voice curt, and then she had given it to him- a perfectly innocent little envelope, completely unmarked with no stamp or address. He let his hand mold around it, and blinked again, utterly confused. He recalled hearing his mobile ring three times from the kitchen, but he ignored it, not wanting to listen to stale sympathies or attempts to rejuvenate him. The house phone had rung not a minute after those calls, but he ignored them too, and no messages were left. He wasn’t willing to tell her that he ignored them. Lindsay didn’t like being ignored.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear.” He excused, and she pressed her lips together, and hummed, knowing that he was bullshitting her but not calling him out on it. He was distinctly uncomfortable at the way she eyed him, from head to toe, and lifted the envelope up. It wasn’t exactly thick, but it was fuller than it would have been if it contained a letter. “Uh, what’s this?”

She acted as if he hadn’t spoke. “You look terrible.” She informed him, shifting so all of her weight was on one leg. She looked like a sass master, and paranoia returned, striking him directly in the heart.

“Thanks.” He told her, dryly. He knew full well how bad he looked- he had covered up the mirror in the bathroom when the reminder became too much. He was also aware about how he was only wearing a pair of baggy three quarter lengths, but he didn’t feel like wearing proper clothes. He rarely felt like dressing up anymore. “Did you hear the man I love was murdered?”

Her smile was watery, thin and mirthless. “I did. And I’m very sorry.” She crossed her arms behind her back. “It was also two weeks ago, and we haven’t spoken properly since because you won’t answer your damn phone.”

His grip tightened, and his jaw set, but he made sure he kept a pretty smile on his face. “Are you saying I should have gotten over it by now?”

“No. You’re just picking a fight with me. I’m saying that you’re being a little bitch about this and not letting people who care for you help you.”

Michael resisted the urge to throw the envelope at her feet and slam the door in her face. He would never get rid of her otherwise. “Maybe I don’t need or want your help.” He said, and she hummed again, and the sound grated on his nerves. He lifted the envelope up and waved it in front of her eyes. “What is this?”

This time, she actually replied. “It’s a plane ticket.”

He arched a dark brow at her. “A plane ticket?” He repeated. He felt the irritation at her intrusion rise, bubbling and boiling. He had no intention to leave his apartment, let alone the country, and he graciously gave her a moment to explain herself before he blew up in her face.

She took a moment to gaze down the hall, checking each end carefully for a few moments before she began. “It’s a ticket for tonight. There’s a plane going to Dresden, in Germany, and I want you on it.”

“A plane ticket?” He repeated again, sounding dreadfully like a stuck record. “To Germany? Dresden?” Lindsay tipped her head to the side and stared at him, her gaze hard and exasperated. Every part of her screamed ‘yes, you moron’. “Why the hell am I going to Germany?”

She perked up at that, as if glad he asked. Her smile suddenly became vibrant, shining bright. The first time they met, one of the first things he noted was her smile. It was the kind that made you feel warm inside. Right now, it didn’t do anything for him. Not like it would have done. In contrast, he scowled back, as if to make a point. Lindsay wasn’t deterred.

“It’s a holiday.”

“A holiday?” He felt like a parrot, repeating everything she said. Lindsay nodded. “You’re fucking kidding me. You think the answer to all my problems is a goddamn holiday?”

“Geoff seems to think so. He paid for it.” She shrugged, pulling a face, but Michael wasn’t so easily distracted or entertained.

“Geoff’s royally pissed at me because I’ve done fuck all.“ He snapped, his voice loud in the hallway, carrying all the way down to the elevator. She hushed him furiously, but he ignored her. “I’m making him lose profit, and you think he wants me on a beach somewhere sunbathing? After Gavin died? How fucking insensitive are you?”

Looking like she wanted to slap the shit out of him, she leant forward, and Michael almost flinched away. He resolved to stand his ground despite the way he wanted to whimper and submit. But she never hit him, despite how much she no doubt wanted to- she just leant forward, in a conspiratorial manner, and her voice was low. “Just go on it, Michael, for God’s sake.” She checked their surroundings again. The hallway was still silent and no one had emerged from the homes to eavesdrop despite the ruckus Michael had made. “Do you trust me?”

He hesitated. He had a feeling he wasn‘t going to like where this was going. “Yes.” He adopted her volume and tone. “Lindsay, what’s going on?”

Her smile came back, but it was smaller this time. Her voice dropped even lower, into a whisper he had to strain to hear. “Outside the airport, there’ll be a driver waiting for you. He’ll hold a sign with the name ‘Adam Mogar’. That’s you. He’ll take you where you need to go.”

Michael stared at her, the gears in his mind whirring. “Is this a job?”

She ignored him. “Don’t pack much. Just some clothes, all the cash you have- no card,” Her voice became firm at that point. “And a couple of personal effects and your phone. Nothing big. No laptop or whatever, right?”

He drummed his fingers against the doorframe, impatiently. “Is it a job or something?” He demanded to know. “Lindsay, I’m a boxer-”

“Goddamnit, Michael, it’s not a damn job.” She bit, and he fell silent, a little shocked. She pulled a face at him. “It’s not a job.” She began awkwardly, twisting her lips as she struggled to think of the right things to say. “But it’s not a holiday. Exactly.”

“Well, that makes sense.” He said, bone dry, and she only smiled. “Can I ask a question before you make me go on this not-holiday holiday?”

“Make it quick. I shouldn’t be here.”

“If this not-holiday has been paid for by Geoff, who exactly are you hiding from?” He narrowed his eyes at her, and she just laughed, the sound reverberating in the empty hallway. She shook her head, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. The shoulders were slightly wet, from the snow that had melted on her.

“I shouldn’t be here.” The redhead simply repeated. “Don’t tell anyone about this trip.” She served him a serious glance, her eyes wide and expressive. “It’s a one way trip, Michael. Remember that, yeah?” With that, she pivoted, turning on her heels and striding back down the hall. Confused, Michael stepped out after her, still clutching the ticket. He called after her, the sound carrying, but he was ignored, and before he had the chance to drag on something appropriate to run after her, she was already long gone.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

The ticket was indeed a one way flight to Dresden, Germany, as Lindsay promised, and he didn’t tell anyone about the trip, as he would have promised if she had given him time.

Germany was bitterly cold this time of the year. He wasn’t sure what else he expected from Europe, really. He stepped out of the airport, almost being lost in the sea of bustling people, trying to find his way to the road. There was collective sense of ‘what the hell’ as everyone left the secure warmth of the airport and as their eyes adjusted from the sudden change to bright and harsh yellow lights to the moonlight outside.

He drew his woolen coat closer, tucking his scarf down again. He was glad he had wrapped up, but he wondered if he had packed enough suitable clothes. He only had a small suitcase with him, packed with everything Lindsay had told him to bring. It rattled behind him, sometimes banging into his ankles, sometimes accidently being kicked by other people, hurrying to their own personal destinations. No one noticed him, lost in their own worlds, and Michael liked that. He could easily get used to it.

There were a line of plain cars and taxis lined up outside, mounted on the curb with people waiting, clutching signs. He scanned them all as he walked by, narrowly avoiding walking into other people, but his new name wasn’t among them. He kept on walking, breaking away from the crowd as best as he could. He tried to read the signs, and only became more confused. He wished he had taken German in school. Like Gavin had.

He rubbed at his eyes, his already low spirits dampened by the thought. He had avoided thinking of Gavin nearly the whole flight, but it seemed his lover’s ghost was determined to haunt him across the world.

He missed him. So much. But now wasn’t the time or place to have an emotional crisis. He steadied his breaths, sinking his teeth into his cheek to keep himself distracted, and kept on walking.

He hadn’t seen whoever he was supposed to meet yet. He wished Lindsay had given him more information, who and where, but it was too late for that. He considered calling her- he wondered what the time difference between them was, wondering if she would hang up on him, promising murder- and asking.

Then, he saw the man waiting across the bus station leaning against a taxi.

The man stood tall, lean and lanky, with stringy yellow hair that fell to his shoulders. He looked incredibly irritated, and Michael didn’t blame him- if he was left to shiver in the freezing cold when he had a perfectly good and warm car waiting behind him, he would be pretty fucked off too. But most importantly, he clutched a large sign, with ‘ADAM MOGAR’ scrawled on it, in huge black letters.

That’s you, Lindsay’s voice said in his head, and he skipped off the curb, his suitcase rattling off behind him, thunking on the floor. He only felt slightly guilty about ruining the flawless snow. “Hey,” He called out, and the driver lazily turned to him, looking at him from head to toe, taking in everything. He didn’t appreciate being appraised like that, but he didn’t want to pick a fight with his ride. “That’s me. I’m Adam.”

“Finally.” The man huffed, dropping the sign, prising the door open and tossing it carelessly inside. He spoke in a strong accent, one that didn’t seem German. “What took you so long?” Before Michael could grace him with an answer, he stepped around to the back end of the car, kicking up powdered snow all over the place. He opened the boot, gesturing for Michael to lift it in. “Get her in.”

He did, and within the minute they were pulling out of the airport and merging into busy traffic, nestled in the warmth of the taxi, listening to a woman on the radio ramble away in German. The driver didn’t speak another word for the entire journey, and Michael was content with that. He knew he wasn’t going to be interested in anything he had to say.

They drove past city lights, passing under street lamps, past heaving clubs and bars and welcoming looking homes, ablaze with golden light. Michael spent most of his time staring out of the window, brooding silently, feeling like an angsty teenager enduring an awkward car ride with an adult he didn’t know that well. It wasn’t tense, which he appreciated, but it felt odd.

They finally pulled up outside what seemed to be a park with a tall, iron fence, barely avoiding mounting the curb. Glancing at the radio, it informed him that they had been driving for an hour and a half. It had felt almost twice that long. Before getting out, Michael took the chance to stretch his legs and mentally prepare himself for the onslaught of cold wind and snow that awaited him just outside. Being a bearer of no such patience, the driver immediately opened the door and stepped out, and Michael was greeted with a blast of freezing air, almost receiving an eyeful of snowflakes.

Shaking his head and adjusting his scarf, Michael opened the door and stepped out, forcing himself to keep walking. The driver was slamming the boot shut as he approached, and he placed Michael’s suitcase on the floor, crushing the snow underneath.

“What do I owe you?” Michael asked, fairly confident he had enough, but the driver shook his head.

“The girl covered it.” He told him. He nodded his head towards the gate. “Wait here. He’ll be here for you soon. Good luck.” He left without any further communication, shutting himself away in his car and pulling out as soon as the traffic thinned. In no time at all, Michael lost him in the maze of headlights.

Slightly unnerved by those last two words, he stood straight, his posture rigid. He hoped he wasn’t kept waiting too long- the cruel winds might freeze him in place. He dragged the suitcase along, standing next to the gate. It had a chain wrapped around the huge doors, a huge padlock weighing them down and locking them. It looked like a winter wonderland inside, when Michael peered through the bars. It was still, unmoving, all the little creatures hibernating and waiting for spring to return and melt away the cold. He wished it were open. He would have preferred to sit on one of the many benches inside.

He waited silently, taking in the rest of his surroundings. He had never been to Germany before- he had never been to Europe at all, actually. It was undeniably beautiful. He could actually see the stars in the dark velvet sky, which was a vast improvement, and snow drifted down lightly, coating the pavement and snow that had already fallen. It was mostly untouched, with few people around to trudge through it. It gathered in his hair, melting slowly. He had thought all the beauty had been unfairly snatched from the world when Gavin had died, but it seemed that he was wrong. He wondered what else he was wrong about.

Each breath he took, he released, and a small cloud emerged in front of him, the warmth contrasting with the chill. Again, he hoped he wasn’t kept waiting long. He would have appreciated a hot drink and a warm, filling meal after his long flight, but he didn’t want to keep the mystery person he was meeting waiting. He shouldn’t have bothered being so punctual if this person wasn’t going to show him the same courtesy.

He enjoyed the feeling of being in Narnia for a little longer, breathing steadily in and out, his eyes always locked on the sky, counting the stars. He heard footsteps crunch nearby in the snow, heavy boots crushing the tightly packed flakes, but he dismissed it, barely registering it. In retrospect, he wished he hadn’t.

He was wondering if he could remember any of the constellations his mother had taught him when he was a small boy when a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around his waist, loosely, gloved fingers lacing together, and a head tucked itself neatly in between his shoulder and his neck.

Michael jolted, and his hands immediately flew to his midsection, grabbing ahold of the hands tightly. He was about to tear them apart and off him, and jump forward and spin to demand just what the hell this wierdo thought he was doing- but the arms tightened, pulling him close and into a warm chest, and a familiar voice sighed “Michael.” directly into his ear.

It sent a shiver down his spine, electricity dancing on his skin. And it terrified him. He squirmed free just like how he tried to escape Jack, imagining the fire before him licking at his skin, burning him alive. His booted feet slipped and kicked in the snow, turning it to dirty grey and brown slush. He broke himself free, this time, and spun around fast enough to make himself dizzy.

He pivoted, and there was a lonely ghost behind him, still reaching out for him, his expression painfully alike a kicked puppy.

Gavin looked an absolute mess- likely worse than Michael himself. Just like Ray, his eyes had lost their delightful mischievous gleam, and he seemed thinner and so much more gaunt than Michael remembered. His dangerously pale skin made him seem ethereal, false, not really there, but he had two pink dots high on his cheeks, likely from the cold wind that would have ruffled his wild hair if he had it not cut it short, in an almost army style. It made him look so much older than he truly was. But he was still his beautiful Gavin, no matter how impossible it was. He was wrapped up tightly, just like Michael, with a thick winter coat and a navy scarf, with heavy boots and gloves. He was dressed darkly in the night, as if trying to remain unnoticed.

His arms fell back down, reluctantly, and he let out an unsteady breath. Fog emerged from his mouth like a waking dragon. “Michael.” He said again, his voice a whisper, as if they were standing in the middle of a church. He seemed nervous.

Michael stood there, staring uselessly, his mouth unmoving and his eyes blinking, as if expecting him to disappear again at any given second. He was a dream, a mirage, something Michael wanted more than anything

“Michael.” Gavin repeated, his mantra, and Michael wanted to close his eyes and lose himself in his voice while he still could, let it soak into him and warm and soothe his weary bones. He didn’t.

“Gavin.” He replied, and it was supposed to be conversational. If he were going insane, he may as well slip into insanity with dignity. Unfortunately, it came out ridiculously awkward, his voice breaking like a teenager’s. “Good to see you?”

The living dead man stared at him, his brows furrowing. His pale lips parted, bowing and arching and forming around words that don’t come out. He closed it again, attempting to premeditate his words, forming them around the argument he needed to make. He opened and closed his mouth several times, his eyes only occasionally determined and mostly petrified, before he gave up- in the time it took Michael to blink once, he took one stride forward and wrapped his arms around his lover, embracing him again, tugging him into his warmth, as if trying to absorb him entirely. He tucked his head into the crook of his neck, practically nuzzling his nose into his hair. He gripped tightly to him, like a piece of wood adrift in the middle of a storm sea, clinging for dear life. Michael noted for the first time how he trembled.

Someone who was dead could not be so warm. For one lengthy and ridiculous moment he wondered if the heat of the fire had lingered, staining his skin, but he pushed the thought away, deeming it nonsense. It was like embracing the sun. Heat leaked from him, and infected Michael, burning and scalding him.

He sucked in a breath, and it hit him with the force of a car. Gavin is alive.

He grasped at him blindly, grabbing fistfulls of his woolen coat, hunting for that warmth, taking in the scent of his faint cologne. “You’re alive.” He muttered into the light and soft material of his scarf, the words falling easily from his tongue, and Gavin nodded eagerly.

“Yes.” He replied, and a full minute of silence and embraces later, still far too quickly for his liking, Michael pulled away. He took a step backwards, ignoring the way the cold embraced him in turn, and looking at him, his eyes accusing. He curled his lips, baring his teeth.

“You’re alive.” He repeated.

Gavin stared at him, his eyes rich with so many vibrant emotions it was impossible to tell each one apart. “Yes,” He began. “I heard you screaming for me.” He said, his voice wavering dangerously. “In front the fire.”

Michael didn’t know what to say, as always. There was a tsunami rising inside him, a storm raging, a plethora of countless extreme emotions. So, as always, he turned to his defence mechanism- blind rage. “And you didn’t let me know you were alive?” His voice was low, like the savage warning growl a feral hound gave before it began to bark and bite.

Gavin physically flinched away, clearly overwhelmed with guilt and regret. His eyes darkened and his hands clenched into tight fists. Good, Michael thought, let him feel pain. Let him suffer how I’ve suffered.

“I’m so sorry.” Gavin began, pathetically. “I know it’s not enough.”

“Fucking right it’s not enough.” Michael spat at him, his voice thunderous. Gavin shifted uneasily where he stood, eying the street around them. The setting was less than appropriate, and Michael shouldn’t have been shouting about such a delicate situation with such passion, but he didn’t give a damn. “Go fuck yourself, Gavin.”

There were so many things he wanted to do, and dozens more than he wanted to say. He wanted to kiss him, he wanted to punch him, he wanted to embrace him again. He wanted to tell him how much he loved him and hated him and missed him and how perfect he looked and how perfect he would always be, despite everything. But all of those things contrasted, clashing like two old gods fighting, and he was lost at a crossroad of possibility. He didn’t know which route to take.

So he did what Gavin had done to him, once, in a time that seemed thousands of years ago. He turned around, and he simply walked away.

“Michael?” He was saying his name in that stupidly special way of his, his voice a little slurred, impeccably hurt. “Michael, where…?” His voice broke off, and guilt gnawed at him like a rat.

“Don’t.” He said, without turning back. “Don’t.”

“Michael, please.” His lover begged, and he heard the sound of crunching snow and frosted, panting breath. “Please don’t, let me explain!”

“I don’t want to hear it, Gavin.”

But the next words he heard stopped him dead. He couldn’t keep walking, even if he wanted to. “I love you.” Gavin called after him, nothing short of desperate, sounding close to tears. “Michael, I love you, and I’ve done so much to keep us safe. So fucking much.”

He did something he loved himself and hated himself for. He stopped, and turned back around. He stared at the lanky man in front of him, and he could see tears dribbling ungracefully down his cheeks, dripping down his chin. It gave him a sick, twisted sense of satisfaction, but it broke his heart, too. Michael felt like he was two men in one body- one that wanted to see Gavin begging, broken on his knees, and the other that wanted to cling to the man and never let him go ever again.

The two fractions warred within him, arguments for and against building up in his mind, his heart a warzone. He watched Gavin as he thought and fought, witnessing the warm tears drop down into the cold snow. He watched as Gavin dared to creep closer, hoped sparking in his heart achingly familiar eyes.

Michael took his chance, right then and there.

He swung and planted his fist firmly into Gavin’s jaw, hoping to feel the delicate bone crack sickeningly. To his disappointment, it didn’t. He didn’t fall to the floor either- he only staggered back two steps, his hands both flying to his jaw. He recovered quicker than Michael anticipated, looking up at him, his eyes brimming with equal amounts of pain and understanding.

He recalled all the times after Gavin’s funeral- what a fucking joke that was- when he dropped the necklace onto his casket, when people came to him with sympathy in their eyes and rehearsed words of comfort on their lips, and told him that he needed to open up, express his feelings.

You need to let it go, Lindsay’s voice sounded in his head, and the memory of the touch of her hand burnt it’s mark into him. You need to tell us how you’re feeling. Otherwise, it’ll bottle up and the pressure will build- until it, and you, explode.

He glared at Gavin, still clutching his cheek and whimpering faintly. He looked into his eyes- he really looked, taking in every indescribable emotion, and then he exploded.

He let it all go. He told Gavin about the time he thought he heard his stupid voice, his goofy laughter. All the times he had thought about having to tell Dan what had happened when they finally find a loophole and manage to free him. All the times he had tried to drink himself to death just like Gavin jokingly warned him he might, and the times all that alcohol had never been enough. All the times he had woken up shrieking from dreams where he saw Gavin trapped in that blazing house, burning alive and he couldn’t do shit about it, and the hours afterwards where he sobbed until the tears would no longer come, and how his clothes still seemed to reek of smoke. All the times he thought ‘the man I love is dead’ and all the while he had been alive, fucking around in Europe.

Gavin served as his emotional punching bag- and to his credit, he stood there and took it wordlessly. By the end, when Michael was done cursing his name and there was no frustration and little hatred left, there were more unfallen tears gathering and thickening in his hurt eyes, making them shimmer. “I’m so sorry.” He was practically chanting, and Michael saw the way his fists were clenched, his nails digging into the soft flesh of his hand as he punished himself. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The snow was falling faster now, and the streets were gradually emptying as the moon rose in the sky and the weather became poorer. There were still people walking by, occasionally, all of them giving the two men sideways looks, but Michael ignored them in favour of Gavin.

“Tell me what you did.” Michael demanded. “Tell me how.”

Gavin’s fingers traced his jaw, quivering as he pressed down on the likely tender flesh. “Lindsay,” He told him after a pause, and Michael started. “Lindsay helped me fake my death.”

He was seconds away from exploding again, shrieking about the traitorous bitch, how she knew all along and didn’t say a word, but Gavin interrupted, wide eyes pleading for just a few moments to explain. Michael granted it. “I planning with her days before it happened- we agreed that she’d encourage Geoff to set the fire, and I’d stay around the back. I,” His voice broke, and he had to take a short breather, one that Michael grudgingly allowed. “I killed people, Michael, and it made me sick. I had to wait, covered in blood, until I saw the flame. When I saw it I’d run deeper into the woods, and I’d meet her at her apartment later. God, there was so much blood. I got on a plane here later that night. I’d given her my creeper necklace, so she could place it around some random corpse’s neck and scream that she’d found me. The bodies would have been so charred, no one would have known the difference between me and one of Cobb’s guys.” Michael listened, making no interruption as Gavin took a moment to suck in a breath. “I did it because I knew Geoff wouldn’t let us go. He’d never stop looking for us if we ran away- so I had to do it.”

“And you just did it? Without telling me? Without a word of warning?”

“I wanted to tell you,” Gavin insisted. “So badly. But you reaction needed to be a genuine as possible- it needed to be legit. If Geoff even had the slightest suspicion, the whole thing would have fallen apart.” He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and began chewing on it, hard enough to eventually draw blood. “He might have hurt you. And I wouldn’t let that happen.”

Michael was quiet for a long moment, lowering his head, staring at their dark boots against the snow, now grey and mushy, permanently stained with their footsteps. He thought it through, a flood of information assaulting his brain, but one thing repeated, over and over again- Gavin was alive, and they had a chance to be together, without interference.

Gavin had taken his unbroken silence for rejection, and he was stammering, tripping over himself like the dork Michael knew and loved.

“I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done to you. If,” He stuttered, the words catching, refusing to ease out of his mouth. “If, if you want to go, that’s perfectly fine, I told Lindsay she shouldn’t have assumed, but she was so sure of herself-”

Michael reached out, cupping his palm around Gavin’s cheek, and he appreciated the feel of the warmth of flesh through his glove. He blinked- and the unshed tears that gradually gathered began to flow until they were streaming, and he was choking. “I hate you.” Michael sobbed, nearing hysteria. He fell forward, leaning into Gavin’s chest, removing his hands and instead clutching the lapels of his coat. “I hate you so much.” Gavin sniffed, the tear trails drying on his own cheeks, and he wrapped his arms around Michael, pulling him as close as he could.

“I know,” Gavin murmured into his ear, and then he withdrew to press a dry kiss to his temple. “I know, darling, I deserve it. I hate me too.”

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

He would have gotten there by now, Lindsay thought desperately, back in Austin, her thoughts crazed and rampant, uncontrollable. She was pacing in her house, walking the same line from her front door to her kitchen, to her living room, to her office, then all the way upstairs to her bedroom, always taking the exact same route, her eyes blind but her feet instinctively guiding her along the path she knew so well. He should have been there, he should have called me, god, why hadn’t he called?

Had Michael decided not to go after all? Had the plane crashed? Was it simply delayed? Had Gavin gotten into a terrible accident? Worse, had Geoff discovered their plot and intercepted Michael on his way there?

She pinched herself roughly, pinching the loose skin on the back of her hand between the point of two of her nails, and the sharp pain kept her grounded to reality. “Get ahold of yourself, girl.” She grumbled. “You’re a mess.”

But still, she worried, just as she had been for the past few hours. Gavin had promised her a thousand times that he would call, no matter what Michael’s answer to his proposal was, but he still hadn’t done. She was helpless, passive, unable to do anything if they encountered trouble along the way. She just hoped they were alright. And prayed that Michael hadn’t freaked out and done something stupid.

She kept on pacing, keeping an ear out for her phone, slowly draining the bottle of red wine she had saved for any special occasion she could think of, her nerves fraying with each passing second.

Her phone rang, the noise shrill, and with only a second’s hesitation, she leapt on it like a predator. She didn’t bother checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” She said, trying her best to sound calm and collected, but she thought she failed in that regard.

“You lying bitch.” Michael’s voice said on the other end of the line, accusingly, but she knew what he sounded like when he was smiling, and she could hear Gavin’s delighted giggles on his side. She smiled breathlessly, listening to the sound of clear happiness, relaxing. “I’m never trusting anything you ever say to me, ever again.”

Her nerves abruptly soothed, she crossed the room at a much calmer pace, settling and melting into her favoured armchair. Her heart was no longer dancing at a mad tempo in her chest, bruising itself against her ribcage. “Michael.” She said his name slowly, savouring it, laughing along with Gavin. “Would help if it said I was sorry, and that it quite literally ripped me apart seeing you like that?” It had, in more ways than she could express. She could barely stand the funeral, seeing him so forlorn, alone at the base of the tree still clinging to Gavin’s so called memory.

Michael hummed, as if seriously considering her words. “I suppose it would.” She listened to him, breathing down the line, listening intently to some of Gavin’s incomprehensible murmurs. “Gavin tells me that if I wanted to run away with him, you would sort out everything I needed. Fake my own death.”

She pressed her lips together, lightly, tensing again. Judging by the way he sounded, she already knew his answer, but she couldn’t help the way the apprehension built. “I can. I’ll make it flawless. They’ll never know.”

“You’d do that for me?” He asked, his tone a little breathless. She reached over for her glass of wine, taking a quick sip to calm her nerves.

“I did it for Gavin, I’ll do it for you.” She confirmed, putting her glass back to one side. “That is, if you want me to.”

“I do.” He said breathily, and Lindsay could only imagine the look on Gavin’s face. She half wished she was there to see it.

“Then it’s done.” She said, quite simply. She leant back in her chair, stretching a little, already bringing her plan together. She would be incredibly busy over the next two days, orchestrating her plan and putting it in motion.“I’m the only one who’ll know that you’re still alive. You can’t contact anyone else. At all. The more people who know, the more at risk you are of being founded out. Do you understand, Michael?”

She heard him swallow, and his hair rustle against the speaker as he nodded eagerly. “Yes, I do. No one. At all. I get it.”

“Good. I need you to toss your phone, anything that could be linked back to you, and then you’ll go. Gavin knows what to do. Just stick with him, and everything will be okay.” Her voice was breaking a little, growing thicker with emotion, and she hoped he won’t notice and make fun of her for it. He didn’t, too distracted with his own thoughts.

“So this is the last time we’re going to talk?” Michael eventually said, his voice odd, and Lindsay nodded, even though he couldn’t see her.

“Yeah.” She confirmed, as her heart split in two pieces. She loved the two of them, like annoying little brothers, and she would miss them dearly. “Yeah. It’ll be less suspicious. Safer that way. No one will ever find out that you’re both still alive.”

Michael eased out a breath. “Lindsay. Thank you.” There was a rustling, and couple of thuds, and Gavin’s voice was suddenly comprehensible over the line.

“Thank you so much, Lindsay.” He murmured over the line, a little distant, but she guessed they were both trying to listen to her replies. “We love you so much, and we owe you. Big time.”

She smiled thinly, her eyes watering up, and she felt like a mess. “You’re welcome, you two. Just stay safe for me. And for God’s sake,” She giggled even as the happy tears leaked from her eyes. “Don’t break up after this, whatever you do.” She paused, before taking the phone away from her ear and hanging up, severing the last point of connection Michael and Gavin had to their old lives with the simple press of a button.

She toyed with her phone for a long moment, her duty done. It felt bizarre, not quite how she expected. She felt empty, now she had played her part, now the two of them were officially gone. Forever. It was heartbreaking, truly, but knowing they were happy and together made it all worth it, in the end.

She took comfort in the fact that although she was never going to see two of her closest friends again, they were reunited and free from tyranny and threat.

She’d drink to that, she thought with a beaming smile even as she cried, and she lifted her glass of wine up in a wordless toast for the two of them.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

He was proud to say his hand didn’t tremble when he held his mobile over the mouth of the public bin, preparing himself to let go, and shed himself of his old life.

Well, it didn’t tremble much.

Gavin was by his side, his source of comfort and warmth. He wasn’t pressuring Michael into it or judging him, which he was glad for. He wasn’t saying a single word. Michael wanted to take his time. It wasn’t a small thing, after all. It was a huge change, and it was permanent. Not easily reversed.

He smoothed his thumb over the back of it, sinking his teeth into the inside of his cheek and drawing rich blood, daring himself. This is what he wanted, he knew. But it was hard. It was so painfully, intensely final.

Do it, asshole, He told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. Snowflakes fell onto his eyelashes, and slowly melted, dampening his eyes like he was crying again. He ran his thumb along it, one more time, as if in farewell- and his hand came apart, the grip disappearing, and it fell into the bin with a thud.

Michael released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and pulled his hand back, flexing his fingers experimentally. He frowned down at the bin, his forehead creasing. The action was easy, but it was the hardest thing he had ever done. He gradually turned to Gavin, and he gave him a strained smile. “Well, that’s that.” He joked, and Gavin didn’t react the way he had hoped. He tilted his head to one side, unsmiling.

“You didn’t have to.” He pointed out, his voice small, as if he were talking to a child. “It’s your life. You don’t have to come with me.”

“I want to, Gavin.” He assured him. “Stop asking me if I’ve changed my mind.” Gavin hummed, somewhat good naturedly, and ran a hand over his hair, brushing over the short locks. He shrugged helplessly, saying nothing, as if too overwhelmed by it all to form words. “You’re an idiot.” Michael told him, and they snickered together. They missed it. Most of all, they missed each other.

Michael laced his hand with Gavin’s, and they almost clicked together, the perfect fit, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He felt complete, at last, and the world seemed to regain it’s beauty when Gavin looked at him like he was the greatest thing in the world. They both smiled, delirious in their joy, almost sickeningly lovestruck. The snow was still falling heavily from the sky, covering their clothes in little sheets and creating tiny crowns upon their heads, and they walked away, hand in hand, and they didn’t look back.


End file.
